


The Life and Time of Genius Detective L Lawliet & Repentant Murderer Light Yagami

by Devilinthebox (princegrisejoie)



Series: TLAT Verse [1]
Category: Death Note
Genre: Alternate Canon, Angst and Humor, Bittersweet Ending, Breaking Up & Making Up, Celebrities, Drug Addiction, Featuring Kira the Bunny, Hospitals, Implied Sexual Content, It's a fic about a fictional biography about two fictional douchebags, Light BDSM, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, On-Again/Off-Again Relationship, POV Third Person Limited, Unofficial Sequel, Voyeurism, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-03
Updated: 2015-05-20
Packaged: 2018-03-10 09:05:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 37,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3284675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princegrisejoie/pseuds/Devilinthebox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>L manages to outwit Kira!Light but chooses not to have him executed. Instead, and because Light has no memory of having used the Death Note, he decides to help him redeem himself. Oh, and they fall in love somewhere along the way. Years later, a biography about them is published and it's a best-seller. Here is why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Tokyo and Winchester

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Majora](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Majora/gifts).



> SO. This fanfiction was originally a one-shot. The prompt was: L manages to outwit Kira!Light but chooses not to have him executed. Instead, and because Light has no memory of having used the Death Note, he decides to help him redeem himself. Oh, and they fall in love somewhere along the way. They have this passionate, off and on relationship; investigate together, break up, stalk each other a bit, argue a lot and have disastrous threesomes.  
> They sort of love the universe and want to save it and feel entitled to be self-centered. Well, it's just them, isn't it?
> 
> ENJOY. And don't forget. It's all over the place. It's supposed to be.
> 
> [Beta by Dana. Thank you. Really, I couldn't have done it without you - and it's not even over but I fully expect to finish this so. Thanks to Lex for the original prompt and all the fanarts, gosh. Thanks to everyone on tumblr who urged me to translate it. Thanks to Laura for existing and giving me the faith to write about these two]
> 
> 14/07/15: Thank you all for the incredible, unexpected support I received. It's a pleasure to have shared this story with you, and I hope that new readers will love it as much as you all did.  
> I figured I should link the absolutely wonderful fanwork some of you did here. I might have missed some, don't hesitate to tell me if I did.  
> Justicewithstrawberries did wonderful recordings : "[the last name](http://http://capitaineblackbird.tumblr.com/post/119837029796/justice-with-strawberries-ahahah-me-trying-my)", "[only me](http://http://capitaineblackbird.tumblr.com/post/119802942881/justice-with-strawberries-from-mellodears-life)", "[it's not my fault](http://http://capitaineblackbird.tumblr.com/post/117678461286/justice-with-strawberries-lux-mea-lex-had-me)", "[human love](http://http://capitaineblackbird.tumblr.com/post/117596019396/justice-with-strawberries-from-mellodears-the)", "[greater good](http://http://capitaineblackbird.tumblr.com/post/114747046695/justice-with-strawberries-this-is-an-excerpt-from)", "[still dishonest](http://http://capitaineblackbird.tumblr.com/post/113902994066/justice-with-strawberries-from-mellodears-the)", "[i care](http://http://capitaineblackbird.tumblr.com/post/110669987151/justice-with-strawberries-a-continuation-to-the)", "[dis-illusioned](http://mellodear.tumblr.com/post/110550166496/justice-with-strawberries-based-on-a-fan-fiction)", "[a realist](http://http://capitaineblackbird.tumblr.com/post/110279136526/ladytective-justice-with-strawberries-it)", "[trophy thief](http://http://capitaineblackbird.tumblr.com/post/110240744236/justice-with-strawberries-i-am-on-a-roll-with)"  
> Isabella wrote (and sang!!) a [magnificent song](http://http://capitaineblackbird.tumblr.com/post/124071330956/lux-mea-lex-analystproductions-our-life-and) inspired by this fanfiction.  
> Lex drew some fanarts: [some here](http://lux-astra.tumblr.com/search/tlat), [L in his trench coat!](http://lux-astra.tumblr.com/post/131947018812/mystesastra-inspired-by-mellodears-fanfiction), [here](http://lux-astra.tumblr.com/post/131946955482/mystesastra-for-mellodears-the-time-and-life), and [here](http://lux-astra.tumblr.com/post/131946938047/mystesastra-inspired-by-mellodears-detective)  
> An [interesting discussion here](http://capitaineblackbird.tumblr.com/post/121860580441/does-l-calling-light-little-prince-in-tlat-have) on the Little Prince references, if you're curious.  
> If you're inclined to listen to it, [here is the fanmix](https://8tracks.com/cptblackbird/voyage) I put together for the fic.
> 
> Enjoy! <3

* * *

_A little note written with three distinguishable handwritings_  
_\- I think this book is gonna make us famous_  
_-We only signed “MMN.” Celebrity is going to wait._  
_\- Yeah. It’s for the best. Look at what celebrity has done to them._  
_\- I don’t know, it suited them in a way. For a while._  
_\- Yagami was the strangest mayor Tokyo ever knew…_  
_\- And L ? He lived a thousand lives._  
_\- You know what? I’m sure they’d approve of this book_  
_\- Really? They’d approve of us putting an end to the endless theories revolving around them with a honest, uncompromising biography? I’d be surprised._

* * *

 

 

Even today, only a handful of people know about the dispute related to the paternity of L’s biography. The version on which L’s successors agreed at the end of their lives was that they all had something to do with it. In truth, the final work was mostly Mello’s. The text was his as well as the captions beneath the photographs. He also transcribed L’s interviews – there was a time where he multiplied them under the name of Lawrence Deneuve. Watari’s death and Light breaking-up with him had made L unbearable, but prolific, in the strangest ways at that time. He was always impossible to live with, but never so much as in the post-2010 years. Gathering information for the book, Mello had discovered L had written no less than a hundred art reviews, created a dozen charities and founded two companies, all under twenty different aliases.

The Life and Time, as they called it, had been published at the author’s expense. Mello loved the cover. He had considered drawing it himself. In the end, they settled for a photograph.  
Mello never ceased to consider L as something of a (imperfect) deity, even decades later. Drawing him did not feel right. So, L’s successors set their heart on a photograph taken in 2009.

In the only interview Mello gave about The Life And Time, he said: “What I love most is the cover. I don’t know who took the photograph. I love it because L looks truly happy. Even though Yagami is there too, we can’t see much of his face. It’s perfect that way, that’s what I told myself. There are hundreds of portraits of Yagami including the TIME’s. However, L carefully avoided cameras’ flashes and photographers in general.”

The first time Near held the book in his hands – that book which told the tale of the greatest detective in the world and his repented Nemesis, he had mumbled: “Not that impressive, actually.”

Mello, who at this time looked like a decaying rock star, had deliberately ignored him. Matt shelled out a polite smile. They knew Near attached a lot of importance to their work. He pretended not to care precisely because _The Life And Time_ made him care a lot. L’s successors had lived in the shadow of their mentor in a world traumatized by Kira. There was something very satisfying in divulging their well-guarded secrets.

It was not a lack of respect. They had clarified that the day they began to gather everything they knew about their mentor and his lover and decided to publish a best-seller out of it all. The decision had been made after Light Yagami’s death. Light won the game of life since he had kept on living 5 years, 4 months and 26 days in a world without L. These two spent half their lives avoiding the public gaze and the other half courting it. Kira, L and their numerous aliases laughed at the world around them with no cruelty, rather with the immature arrogance of two individuals who saw themselves above everyone else.

Mello, Matt and Near asserted their respect in the preface: _“We untangled the enigma_ _that_ _the man behind the letter L weaved carefully around himself. Over the years, his relationship with the public became more complex. He was L, Ryûzaki, Deneuve, Coil. We do not claim to have known him. Had we really understood him, we wouldn’t have needed to involve Yagami in this book – we would have dedicated this biography to L and L only. If you believe in destiny, you’re free to think that Kira and L were promised to each other in some way._

 _However, we took care not to depict Yagami as the villain of their story. Our admiration for L does not blind us anymore. We shed a bright light on them_ _in order_ _(in an effort)_ _to burn their masks. There were so many things they would have rather carried to their graves. We believe they owe the rest of the universe_ _this_ _much, though._

_If by any chance they could spy on us, from wherever they are now, we are certain they’d choose not to. They wouldn’t even think of it. When they were alone at last, they ignored the world around them."_

And this Fitzgerald quote, to keep a clear conscience (they weren’t L’s successors for nothing): “What people are ashamed of usually makes a good story.”

* * *

 

 **Notes in the back of the manuscript**  
" T _he Life and Time of Genius Detective L and Repentant Murderer Light Yagami_  " M : This title doesn’t sound right. Too lurid.  
N: The book in itself is quite sensationalist  
M2: Well, they can’t sue us anymore.  
M : Yeah. I can actually picture L fancying that kind of homage  
N: Me too. He got really mystical in the end.  
M2 : Why, because he exclusively ate wolfberries?

* * *

 

**Winchester (2004-2005)**

**End of game, beginning of play**

* * *

 

Curtains open at the end of the case which changed everything. Like every criminal L ever hunted, Light laid down his arms – a bit of an irony, as his own weapon caused his demise. The Death Note was kept away from Light Yagami forever. It was not destroyed immediately. Watari suggested that Yagami should be locked up in a secret place until a decision had been made. Soichirô Yagami studied the choices he was presented with. He frowned when L said: “Deprived of his memories, he seems to have become a completely different individual. Do you still believe it is fair to punish him for crimes he doesn’t remember committing?”

The question was sincere, for all he knew. The answer was obvious.

Light Yagami had to be punished in secret as to avoid any kind of public humiliation. 

The alternative was the Wammy’s House. ”We are always in need of well-intentioned monitors for our school,” Watari had affirmed. All was well. L had defeated Kira and got to keep Light close to him. Light worked for those he had sought to kill, with an almost mystical desire to make amends.  

At first, The Life and Time - the tale of L and his rival, was a simple joke Mello did not find funny at all. He had resented L for associating himself with this criminal, a man who actively tried to assassinate him.

“You know I made a bit of discovery recently. Something really important. Like you wouldn’t believe,” Matt had said. Everyone in the study room was either really quiet or really focused. Matt didn’t feel like being either of them – it was a problem. Leaning over the equations they were supposed to solve, Mello refused to let himself be distracted. Matt tried again:

“Since that new Japanese assistant arrived, L visited three times. Granted, he always pretends to be Lawrence, Mr Wammy’s nephew but you, me and Near, we know the truth.”

L very occasionally visited the Wammy’s House and it was always under the guise of Watari’s kin. However, Near found out eventually and L consented to tell the truth to those who were the most likely to succeed him someday. Mello was certain he always wanted to tell them anyway – but his legendary paranoia got in the way.

“That stiff assistant here is Kira trying too hard to redeem himself,” Mello mumbled, “If you think you got a scoop there…”

Matt shrugged. He was used to Mello’s genius. “Not, not really. I wanted to know what you make of it.”

“It’s L’s business, I guess,” Mello answered in a breath. 

Under an alias, Light Yagami stayed in the orphanage for a while. He vanished as soon as he was done with the daily tasks, so often that he quickly became subject to the craziest gossips.

The most popular of them all? That brilliant and reclusive young man HAD to be L, of course. For the orphans, it was crystal-clear. If only they knew.

The mysterious nephew of Mr Wammy visited the orphanage again, six months after the Kira case came to an end. Six months without any contact - for two lovers in denial, it was rather risky.

It seemed only natural to include the exchange Mello came upon that day to their book. L and Light never knew someone else had heard them. It was a privilege the authors of the Life and Time offered their readers – an ultra-secret part of the _very_ private life of two people who at the time almost lived in hiding.

Leaving the table that evening, Mello had noticed L – tall and thin and ill at ease in his black shirt and trousers. He seemed to be waiting for someone. It could only be Light. He wouldn’t have waited for someone else. L could treat others like a king does his subjects. He did not easily make time for others, as a general rule.

* * *

 

**M’s comments on the May 2005 reunion**

_In the shadows, I observed their little game. I bit my upper lip when Yagami pulled L against him and my heart missed a beat when my idol made the same move. I was still a child, I was still in awe of L. Today, I picture his smile – such a rare sight  - and I forget my resentment. At that time, all I could see was this: the most brilliant man in the world, our Sherlock Holmes, Interpol’s favourite trump card offers a second chance…no, more than that, his friendship and his love to the man who almost destroyed him. To me, it was_ _nothing_ _but an unbearable injustice._

* * *

 

 

L and Light entered the empty kitchen. Mello waited until they closed the door to press his ear against it. He had the exceptional mind of a very jealous child – he remembered every word he heard that day. By chance, they were speaking in English.

“I cannot go on like this. My family knows and I can’t confront them. The whole world doesn’t and I can’t face them either. You…what you are doing, is it fair? Does it feel right? You wouldn’t give a second chance to everyone, would you? That’s why I can’t work with you.”

Mello would have described Yagami’s tone as “whiny” but he was aware of his own bias.

“I didn’t ask you to work with me, Light Yagami. You will work for me. Wedy and Aiber committed crimes before becoming my agents. This is my method. I keep trophies. You can call me thief. Eraldo Coil, Ryûzaki, Deneuve were my enemies before being my aliases. Had I killed you, I would have stolen your name as well.”

L’s voice was severe and intimidating – Mello almost blushed. Maybe Yagami did, too.

“Why do you need to be so harsh?”

“This is not me being harsh, Light. I am a realist. I may condemn Kira’s actions but it doesn’t make me a saint. If you believe yourself to be a sinner, know that I am a sinner too. Love me, but don’t idealise me.”

There was a rather long silence during which Mello was convinced they were speaking with their eyes. They had a real talent for that.

In spite of the closed door, Mello could feel this unnerving tension around them. They would never even _try_ to appease it. He imagined it was already there during the investigation. Had they given in to their desires or had they bravely ignored it in the name of professionalism? It was still there, in any case. They were drawn to each other like magnets.

“Love you? How?”

“Well, decide for yourself, Light.”

L did not manage…or rather he _refused_ to maintain his usual detachment. Yagami tried to control his voice so as to eliminate anything that would betray his edginess.

“Do you really want to yield to that? You are giving me a second chance that I am not sure I deserve. I will honour it. I believe it’s enough. I don’t want to distract you from your work. Carry on being brilliant and come to see me sometimes. Write me letters. But –“

“Pardon? What are you trying to say? You speak too much, get to the point.”

Yagami paused. Was he weighing up the pros and the cons?

Then he said: “Are you in love with me?”

“I do not know,” L replied. “Ask me questions.”

“This is not a medical exam!”

“I have never been in love, how could I know?”

“Me neither! You should have an idea even if you’re not sure. What would you say if you had to give an answer?”

“In that case, I’d say yes”

“…Really? This is not…I thought you’d never…At least certainly not like this!”

“You expected something dramatic? I could be like Gunther Sachs if you want – showering your future house with roses. Or macarons.”

L left the Wammy’s House sometime later. He had found it hard not to glance at his phone during his short conversation with Mello and Near.

Meanwhile, Light kept his mind busy. He had curled up in some fluffy-looking armchair, wondered who was responsible for the orphanage’s awfully dated furniture and began to read books he already knew by heart. After a while, he closed his eyes and thought of L. He refused to let himself go. He would never be one of these love-struck adolescents he claimed to despise. He did his utmost to draw up a list of L’s worst flaws – an exercise he practiced all his life. That day, though, he came up with two flaws. That was all.

  1.     His hair is still horrifyingly messy.
  2.     He wears tight jeans now. Bad idea when you weight 50kg.



Light did not respect the rules. He loved that scrawny figure of his and his cigarette-like legs. They were miles and miles away from a _flaw_.

Several times during the six following months, Light looked angrily at his phone for a few minutes before giving in to the temptation. He concealed his adoration under layers upon layers of excessive self-confidence. Once the message was sent – the damage was done, he justified himself in thousand different ways. He found the courage to reveal his favourite one to the readers of his autobiography, 35 years later.

_When I’d realise I would inevitably take this damned phone and write to him in the next five minutes, I’d remember each of the looks he gave me and try my best to interpret it as a cry for help. I wasn’t yielding; I was merely giving him what he needed. I was doing him (and certainly not myself) a favour._

* * *

 

 

**Encrypted conversation**

LIGHT: I have the feeling you’re having trouble expressing yourself tonight. Is it that hard, having me on your mind all day long?

L: I’m working. I investigate and watch over my agents, you know. The usual. You? You tried to call me twice. My queen should learn to live without my insufferable self…  
Don’t take me too seriously. Take care.

* * *

 

Maybe they loved each other, but they didn’t act upon it. Mello informed Matt of what he had heard and Matt insisted they tell Near too. (“He has the right to know, Mel. If things continue like this…next thing you know L and Yagami are going to go on a year-long trip somewhere. L has not been himself lately. You and Near are going to take his place soon.”)

Matt was not entirely wrong. L wasn’t planning on going into exile with his ex-Nemesis yet. Nevertheless, he knew that his existence as the World’s Greatest Detective was coming to end. It was time.

All he had to do was prepare a memorable exit. He wrote his last message as ‘L’ as he would have written his suicide letter – by hand and in secret. In his mind, it was a suicide letter after all.

It didn’t take much time. He knew exactly what he had to say. As he was ahead of the date he had chosen, the hardest part was to wait for it to arrive.

One year exactly after L proved he had been Kira all along, Light Yagami received a message on his phone. It had been weeks since the last one. The sky was still pale; the sun hadn’t begun to rise yet. It would have woken him up if he had been able to sleep.  

The message was brief: “Listen to L’s speech on TV today”. By his own admission, Light had been resenting L for acting so coldly. Light longed for comfort but strictly refused to admit it, even to himself. That day, he executed every task Mr Ruvie entrusted him with.

He was ever so diligent. Even so, he made a mistake he later blamed on melancholy. He had killed and forgotten it. Tried to live with that idea. A year was not enough to accept this.

Anyway, Light did something he regretted so much he could still feel the bitter taste of humiliation in his mouth weeks later: he listened to L’s speech along with the rest of the orphanage. L was a celebrity everywhere now but he was practically a god in the little, slightly disturbing world that was the Wammy’s House. Everyone sat, in a silent deference, in front of the television.

The letter L appeared on the screen. Light glanced at his phone. No other message. He was too preoccupied to feel Mello’s sidelong look at him. Standing in a corner, L’s greatest admirer dreaded what would happen next. He couldn’t get Matt’s words off his mind. Could it really be L’s swansong?  

Indeed it was. Although everybody knew it by that time – it had even been printed on overpriced t-shirts you could only find on the Internet, Mello, Matt and Near decided to reproduce this ultimate message in _The Life and Time_. Such a famous speech had been distorted many times. They were keen to give the real version. (“Corny as it was,” Near had said).

* * *

 

**LAST SPEECH FROM L FIRST OF HIS NAME TO THE WORLD**

(They had really written ‘first of his name’ in The Life and Time as to respect the slight regal side of their mentor)

_My investigation was successful. Kira was beaten. In front of me, he said his last words. The murders of criminals ceased a year ago. Is it not enough to earn your trust?_

_The end of the Kira case should not be treated as my private, ultimate and personal victory against the most prolific serial killer of our time. I was able to prevent Kira from carrying out his plan with the help of the Japanese police force, but we will never be able to prosecute them. The world will have to carry the weight of Kira's actions forever, and accept the indisputable fact that no human being will ever be tried for Kira's actions. I'll go so far as asserting that even if it was physically possible to bring them before court, no jury in the world would ever reach a fair verdict for a variety of reasons._

_I will be brief: Kira no longer exists and most of their modus operandi remains unknown. Any hope for a fair trial in these circumstances is…unfathomable._

_If we were to judge Kira in spite of that, shouldn’t we also bring to court all those who backed off, those who dared not confront this serial killer and cheered for him whenever they could? Kira is gone from this world but I cannot promise you there won’t be another one. It is vital we unite our forces in order to create a fairer world. The world is worth fighting for. Kira agreed with me on this – but he made the childish mistake of believing he could fight on his own._

_Now, I want to answer a question I saw go around, here and there. No, if the human being that hid behind that Kira persona was in front of me, I wouldn’t condemn him to death. Kira showed us we can all go downhill when_ _we_ _feel so powerless against injustice. You made Kira what he was. You were all impatient to crown him. People love to see death. It reminds them_ _that_ _they have a life, no matter how vile and mediocre._

_Kira, I am addressing you now. This absurd power left you but I fear that one day it might come back. If it does, remember my words. You are young, desperate. You are powerless and terrified. I do not doubt you have the purest intentions. But before you sacrifice your soul for an ideal world, before you renounce hope, I beg you to think again. You are not a saint, you are not a martyr. You were not chosen and you have never been so alone. To become a self-righteous monster, to decide to die, to decide who should die…all of this is so simple for an adolescent. It is simple because you cannot see a future that pleases you. All you can see is the appalling side of this world._

_As someone who knows how frightening this world is, I am assuring you: you have a bright future ahead of you. The future exists. You cannot expect it to be fair if you greet_ _it_ _with bloody hands._

_Kira, if you hear me, I am asking you to consider the consequences of your actions. Let go of the idea that you have to save the world. It will ruin you. If you want to be fair and just, lower your weapon. Fear is not the cure to injustice; but the seed of tyranny._

_If no one ever reached for you, I will. Because, like you, I am intimately convinced that the world needs people like us to fight for it. True justice will be our aim, our sword, our end._

_You are a brilliant mind, corrupted by despair and weakness. You have been weak and you have been followed by weak people. Yet, I will dedicate every second of my life to ensure that your sins be absolved. I cannot take back what you’ve done to this world but...together…_

_Together_ _we_ _can work for a future enlightened by the ever shining light... of justice._

* * *

 

L retired from his role as the World’s Greatest Detective, bowing out with one last teasing: _“If you decide I am a criminal, if you want to bring me into court for reaching out to one lonely human being…then, by all means, catch me! I wish you luck because no amount of courage or hard work will ever be enough to accomplish that feat.”_

In Winchester, Light Yagami was swearing in Japanese. Matt could only grasp a few words, swallowed in what sounded like a very angry sobbing. Yagami slipped away before Mello could get a grip on himself: he never saw Yagami cry. Neither did Near, but he pretended not to regret it. He really didn’t care that much about Yagami.

The next day, the editorial boards of every tabloid newspaper in the world were burning with excitement. Yet, most of the front pages were terribly uninspired. One of them did aim straight though. So straight, it hit the target.

It was an English tabloid newspaper which lived up to the reputation of every English tabloid newspaper. Its article on L’s speech was titled: “Genius Detective L and Psychic Killer Kira: the most turbulent love story of our time?” The detective and his rival were every bit as good as Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor.

Light read the newspaper that morning and smiled while doing it. When asked what he made of their comments on L’s speech, he shrugged in an affected manner.

“If I were Kira, I’d feel better and ready to make amends. L was right.” He finished his coffee (black, without sugar – why was L so determined to spoil this pure, bitter taste with tons of sugar, he would never comprehend). “If nobody else other than Kira understood his message, that’s too bad but I’m sure L doesn’t care much anyway. He was speaking to Kira.”

As for now, the majority of the orphanage was certain they were living under the same roof as Kira. Light pretended not to care.

The English tabloid newspaper was certain to have discovered the secret behind L’s message: he was in love. It may be more accurate to say that the newspaper _triggered_ something. These rumours united them – and if not for that, they would have only had the same awkward embarrassment to share. Truth be told, they loved to read about L and Kira’s passionate love story. It excited Light’s narcissism and fed L’s ego.

L called that night. Light thanked him politely, his voice shaking slightly. L smiled against his cellphone; Light could feel it somehow.

“I only did what I had to. Have you read the newspaper? It’s quite amusing. L and Kira against the rest of the world.”

Under the identity of Mr Wammy’s nephew, L visited the orphanage of his childhood again. He spent his nights several rooms away from the one that had been prepared for him.

Matt tried to persuade Mello not to spy on them. He could be caught eavesdropping with no rational reason. They had no right to be involved in L’s private life. Mello had nodded as he feared L’s fits of anger – they were rare but memorable.

However, L’s successors ignored a simple fact that would have freed Mello of guilt: L and Light relished in letting the world gossip about their relationship. They loved that sort of vulgar celebrity.

Here is what Light had to say in his biography:

 _In public, we hardly ever agreed on anything and we fought about nothing. Nobody would have guessed how united and alike we truly were. To the rest of the world, each of us wanted to appear as the winner of an imaginary game. But in private…I can’t say we truly opened our hearts. We were still too self-conscious. We knew how easily these things break. Still, whenever the two of us were alone we would experience a love and excitement that we never dreamed possible. We would do everything to make the other feel it with the same intensity. Especially L. He always was excessive. Passionate, even._ _The entire universe could have been spying on us,_ _and_ _we wouldn’t have stopped for them. I can even hear L’s comments: "Let them enjoy the show! These voyeurs have good taste.”_

 _The Life And Time_ disclosed the few words that the young and still very jealous Mello had managed to hear:

"Did I tell you what I like about you?" Yagami said, his voice ever so calm.

“My name?”

“Hilarious. Actually, don’t you think you could trust me with this now? I may feel the irrepressible need to say your name, one day.”

Most of their sentences were punctuated by very long half-silences during which Mello could only try not to picture what they were doing. In his mind, it was always L who ended up pushing Yagami away. He was wrong at a 40/60 ratio. Yagami had the tendency to slip away when things got too intense between them.

“God knows what my real name is. I don’t even know my stupid father’s surname. I have one name: the one Mr Wammy gave me. Like I said, I stole names because I don’t have one. I will be buried under a nameless grave. Isn’t that the saddest thing?”

Light usually sighed whenever L evoked his death – it happened on a regular basis. For once, Light didn’t sigh.

L added, his voice low: “So, what do you like about me, Light Yagami?”

"Your voice. Without hesitation. I enjoy the rest, but that voice was made for giving orders."

"You want _me_ to give _you_ orders? Oh, I know. That's because I’m the oldest, right?"

"Try me. I know how to take advantage of any situation. Watch me."

Crushed against the door of the room, Mello silently deplored L’s taste in men. He went back to his room and tried to get some sleep. At least, he was certain there was nothing he could do to stop this from happening. He realized how late he was.

Thus began their relationship and the first chapter of the book. _The Life and Time_ showed them as they were rarely seen, as they truly were: pretentious, self-centered, and seriously disturbed.


	2. The appartment in Schöneberg

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the saga continues. Honestly this may be the strangest fic I have ever written. It's very self indulgent so I'm truly surprised other people like it, but thank you!! :)  
> As always, thanks to Dana for beta'ing this <3

The second chapter had been so controversial that Matt regretted having pleaded its cause when Mello suggested they remove it from the final manuscript.

As soon as the last technical details regarding the Kira case had been settled, L had vanished along with Light Yagami, leaving his successors with the burden of replacing him as the World’s Greatest Detective.

It was easy to overlook the small differences between L first of his name and his successors. The new L was just as efficient and gifted – he was a two-headed creature after all. He was the same as before, although less insolent in his speeches. Nobody had been perceptive enough to notice yet.

Mello and Near enjoyed the extreme anonymity of their status. L had indirectly guided their entire existence until then. Now, they embodied that letter L perfectly. They would still scatter their own personal touch now and then. Nobody noticed it, but it was still rewarding – they were L and remained themselves nevertheless.

There was only one thing everyone could have noticed. The new L never, ever, mentioned the Kira case. It happened once in February 2007: it was the first and only press conference they gave since L’s swansong in 2005. Near and Mello were expecting to be bombarded with Kira-related questions – the same old inquiries about his capture, his life and his true identity. In his last message, L voluntarily remained very vague on these details. Of course, such mystery could only give birth to thousands of wild theories regarding Kira’s true identity. L probably delighted himself in reading these on the internet, Yagami sitting on his lap. Meanwhile, Mello and Near had to deal with the unpleasant parts of this. They couldn’t care less about gossip and conspiracy theories (‘Kira and L are one and the same!’ Oh boy, that one was just everywhere.)

Truth be told, they resented L a little. The Kira case had made him even more dubious and elusive. They still loved him, of course. Only, they weren’t regretting his absence just yet.

Anyway, in 2007, a journalist had asked just the exact question they didn’t want to hear. It had been one year and a hundred investigations (which amounted to 148 cups of coffee spilled over Near’s toys out of pure frustration) since then. Mello couldn’t remember the exact terms of the question. In any case, it must have been stupid enough to annoy Near. Granted, he wasn’t that tolerant. His patience was great when it came to assembling robots, not so much when he had to deal with people he deemed foolish.

L, on the other hand, enjoyed these sessions. It was the perfect occasion to remind the skeptics of his 100% success rate. He only hid in the shadows because he had to. Who knows what kind of deadpan, insufferable private detective he would have become otherwise. Since he couldn’t be Sherlock Holmes, he settled for Batman and, over the years, deepened the mystery he was shrouded in.

Near despised myths and considered these press conferences a gigantic waste of time. The new L said Kira only once in public: “Kira is dead. Kira remains dead. And we have killed him. Comfort yourself.” Some deemed the homage to Nietzsche tasteless but it brought closure at least.

Thus, L freed himself from Kira forever; he became that infallible and invisible detective again. It was an illusion, but L was needed now more than ever.

No one needed to know that L sometimes longed for the time he was chained to Light Yagami.

*

 “Is he really Kira, though? I mean psychologically speaking. He doesn’t remember a thing,” Matt said on the first day of 2008.  “He does give off this cute but psycho vibe, though,”  he added, pensively. He put one last sugar cube in his coffee and tasted it. 10 sugar cubes were definitely enough for him. L really must have had some secret trick.

Mello didn’t care for Matt’s personal challenges. He answered without commenting on the face his friend was making while sipping his sickly sweet coffee.

“I don’t care if Yagami doesn’t kill people anymore. Good for him, you know? Doesn’t mean I should trust him.”

These days, Mello paced like a caged lion in their brand new Los Angeles HQ - a duplex that looked like a garage, while Matt often delayed the moment he should return to work. The Wammy's very peculiar brand of education had left its mark: the ex-third of the list of L’s successors was assigned the most unpleasant tasks. Linda had refused to work with them and perhaps she had been right. She worked in some fancy art gallery in Rome now. Truth be told, Matt didn’t like his job very much. He only loved Mello and Near. That’s why he pretended to be interested by the Lawlight drama – a word Near had recently coined - and said:

“I know you mean well, but L doesn’t need protection. Misora taught him capoiera, remember? Yagami doesn’t stand a chance.”

Mello fiddled nervously with his foil wrapped chocolate bar.

“I know that, thank you,” he mumbled, “I don’t trust L either, actually. But I love him. I don’t want him to...lose his way, alone with his Moriarty. ”

Matt refrained from commenting on the ambivalence of Yagami’s role in L’s life: he could be his Moriarty type nemesis as well as his Irene Adler-like lover.

He tried to reassure Mello instead of upsetting him. “L will get tired of Yagami’s bullshit eventually. He’s only excited now because he thinks he’s found his soulmate or something. But Yagami’s a liar. L only pretends to lie so nobody can get through him. I’m quite certain Yagami learned to lie before he could even stand.”

Matt’s best efforts to calm Mello were not successful. Mello spent most of his afternoon on the phone. Watari had withdrawn somewhere – he would never divulge L’s secrets, not even to his successors. The Wammy’s vast network was their only chance.

A call from Aiber to Near had finally lead them to their mentor: “L is in Berlin. He is working under a false identity as a private detective. Yagami is with him – or he just found another Japanese boyfriend but I doubt that. I don’t forget a face and I’d recognize Yagami’s incredibly stiff posture anywhere. I’m sure he rehearses it in front of his mirror every morning. Anyway, you’ll find them in Schöneberg.”

Near had contemplated not telling Mello about it. He respected L but didn’t regret his absence. L was similar to some old toy in his eyes: he had been his favorite but that time was long gone. Plus, Yagami was amnesiac and somehow it prevented him from killing again. They had no reason to interfere. Why should they even care about the games the ex-greatest detective and the repentant criminal were playing?

Aiber’s call had made one terrible thing clear: L and Light were living together. Near knew how strongly Mello felt about that. In his ideal world, L had imprisoned Light in a relatively comfortable cell and had handed him down to Watari. It was a softer world than Near’s, where Yagami barely ever saw daylight.

The second chapter of The Life of Time owed its existence to Near’s albinism. His condition made it hard for him to see, which is why he didn’t see Mello as he entered the room. 

"Someone called?” Mello asked nervously. He threw his jacket on a chair and came nearer. He tended to alternate between desk work and field work.

"No," Near lied.

"You are still holding the phone, snowball."

Since there was no real way to deny it with dignity, Near told him the truth. Mello had the right to know what had become of their mentor, after all. Even though he probably wouldn’t like it.

 

*

The Berlin chapter abounded with unreliable anecdotes – most of the witnesses were nowhere to be found and the few testimonies it mentioned were dubious at best. Actually, Mello and Near had trouble believing the events that had happened before their own eyes. L had changed. No, L was finally living a human life and was rather bad at it. Nothing turns your life upside down like a near-death experience. Nothing overthrows your deep-rooted prejudices about intimacy like falling madly in love. L lived through both and couldn’t quite decide which one had terrified him the most.

Did Light felt the same? Obviously. He was Kira, the monster he knew he should despise. Yet, he didn’t seem too overwhelmed by the whole situation. His room was as disturbingly tidy as ever and if anything, he had become even more charming. What did it say about Light Yagami’s psyche? L could only admire his incredible ability for regeneration. Light was constantly reinventing himself.

In 2007, Light had asked a man whose real name he had only known for a year to live with him. Oh, yes. L had claimed God knew his real name but that was a lie. He eventually admitted it and teased: “God knows what my name is and I did pander to your desires by calling you God once that night. Your divine ambitions only extend to the bedroom now, I consider it great progress.”

Reminding Light of his really peculiar fantasies was an excellent way to win an argument. At least, it worked on the self-conscious 18 year old Light was back then. 

So they began to live together and got better at pretending they were friends-with-benefits. Light still avoided thinking about Japan. He couldn’t bring himself to go back just yet. As for L, he was finally experiencing teenage angst.

“I’ll be in Berlin. I’ll leave my successors to you. Take care,” he had written in an encrypted message to Watari.

Honouring his English heritage, Watari had kept his composure. He swore to himself he would keep an eye on Yagami, though. Yagami knew all too well that Watari would take any necessary measure to get rid of him if needed.

But Watari didn’t know what kind of lover his protégé was. He was passionate and possessive and wild. He could give Light the silent treatment for days before granting him an explanation. However, his fits of anger were so terrible Light wished he’d never talk again.

That’s why Light wasn’t afraid of Watari. He knew that if he ever hurt L Lawliet, the ex-MI6 agent would be too late. L would have found a hundred ways to make him pay before Watari could even locate them.

Light would sometimes smile in the middle of a fight, delighted with the outbursts only he was able to trigger. L would instantly notice it and calm down. Admittedly, Light always overplayed L’s bad temper in his mind because it turned him on. L rarely ever resorted to physical violence. Light was grateful for that: he remembered the horrible bruise he had to endure for weeks after their last fight. Except for tennis, Light wasn’t much of a sport enthusiast. Though, he loved the competition and the good looks that came along with it.

L was most violent in his words. He could shower you with the worst insults, stay silent, admire the result of his work and inflict the coup de grace – often an armor-piercing remark, small and quiet as an arrow. At the time, Light found this technique terribly attractive. It was only because he had never been the target of one of L’s arrows and thought he never would be.

Here’s how The Life and Time introduced the Berlin chapter: "It took several shots of Jägermeister and a pair of Lanvin for Light to fall in love. After that, he swore not to drink anymore (a promise he struggled to keep) and not to accept gifts from L any longer (a promise that he never tried to keep)."

Of course German alcohol, as strong as it was, was not to blame. It was all Light’s fault, even he would admit it, eventually. Writings from this period were rare – Yagami must have destroyed most of the notebooks he had filled (one could only wonder what was so embarrassing about them). Matt had managed to find a few pages he swore weren’t forged. 

* * *

  **Light Yagami’s diary, page 56**

We’ve lived in Berlin for three months now and not once L has shown the slightest interest in my life outside of the apartment. I think he is doing this deliberately. He wants to forget that I have an existence outside of these walls. After all, he rarely ever goes out - how could he not be jealous? He fantasizes about my life outside. Does he picture me flirting with some eccentric German student; accepting beers from people I barely know? That would be rich, coming from him. He was so adamant that I shouldn’t go to jail. "You don’t have the temper," he said. I remember that. I had no choice but to agree, back then. I didn’t exactly fancy myself as a prisoner even if I deserve it. How could I give anything back to society, trapped in a cell like an animal? However, L never intended to free me. He locked me up in another sort of prison. That wasn’t too inconvenient until I realized how hard it is not to speak to anyone. I’m not looking for friends, but it’s nice to be appreciated.

* * *

 

For the sake of objectivity, past this excerpt, the authors of the Life and Time chose to narrate the events themselves. They filled in the blanks thanks to Mello’s talent for writing and Near’s ability to distance himself. The latter judged both L and Light with the same implacable coldness. He had admired L but he knew him well enough now to claim that he was not fond of him. As to Yagami, he had not even wanted to know him.

 

**German Night : Act I**

It was a weekday, it was winter, and the sun was going down as the amphitheatre began to clear out. At that time, any sensible person would have asserted that Light and L were dating, but they pretended to hate labels. They kissed and slept together like friends. They were obsessed with each other in a friendly way. Were they happily living in a lie or were they anxiously waiting for the other to come around? The answer would come later.

Light had not yet decided to ride a bike to uni. That too, would come later. For now, he was puzzled by the incredible popularity of such an unstable and possibly dangerous means of transport.

"You just have to get used to it," Thomas said.

Thomas’ name sounded so delightfully German. His surname too. More importantly, Thomas was among the ten most intelligent students of the promotion Light integrated under the identity of Hikaru – a very gifted Japanese exchange student. Thomas was particularly beautiful with his bright blue eye and his long legs. There was just enough rebellion in his attitude and care in his posture. Light considered him worthy of his interest.

"I imagine," Light replied in a German he hoped was flawless, “Still, be careful.”

“Nothing is going to happen to me! If you’re afraid to ride a bike, how will you ever drive a car?” Thomas teased

Light did not seem amused: “I don’t need a driving license. I intend to get myself a chauffeur.”

Poor Thomas couldn’t tell whether the handsome Japanese student was playing with him or not. He was about to answer something neutral when he got distracted. He couldn’t help but stare at the magnificent BMW someone was parking near them.

Light was more interested by its owner. They were standing afar from him and the darkness made it hard to see if he was truly beautiful. It didn’t matter. That man did not need any stupid, artificial norms to catch the eye. It was a rare ability Light knew how to appreciate.

Then, Light turned his eyes away from the gloomy-looking driver and wondered. What were the odds of him meeting two specimen of that rare brand of devilishly charismatic men?  

No, no. Couldn’t he be wrong for once? Of course, he was tragically right. As the man came closer, Light blanched. It was not the first time that he desperately wished he could have an absolute control over his body. To top it all off, Thomas found it necessary to elbow him. Light judged him all too familiar all of a sudden.

“He’s coming! Do you know him? Is he a celebrity or something?”

Could L reasonably be mistaken for a celebrity? Not at the time and not even years after. He was more of a “person of interest” really.

Still, Thomas had a point; L did have a lot of presence that night, in spite of everything. He certainly didn’t have the physique to be on the front cover of GQ. He looked like the obscure poet whose interview gets squeezed out in the last pages. He wasn’t even well-dressed. He was wearing an old trench coat, yet his shoes were brand new. His scarf was unbelievably ugly. That was the kind of detail Light would judge someone on. Not this time. Light dug this film noir look.

He should have seen this coming.

L was somewhat of a shape-shifter. He didn’t possess Light’s gift for deception (or as he put on his résumé, acting skills). Great actors believe in their lies; L couldn’t. He was a self-aware identity thief. Ryûzaki’s attitude? He owed that one to Beyond, for the most part. Before he became a serial killer, Beyond was nothing but an eccentric bookworm. Eraldo Coil and Laurence Deneuve had been worthy adversaries whose voices he could still imitate over the phone.

So, yeah, he had obviously made an effort to dress up. But he certainly wasn’t pretending to be someone else. He purposely let his true self shine true; that dark, tormented part of himself. The L Light fell in love with, the one he could hardly resist.

He couldn’t tell a stranger his real name, though. As to remind Light that this personality was the one he loved the most, L chose a name that resembled Light’s.

“I am Leigh," he said, his voice drawling, as always when he spoke in English. Light was certain he had come to make him pay for something. But what? L could get jealous so easily.

He had caught Light in the act of being agreeable with somebody. Apparently, it was a serious offence.

Sensing that L was going to say something senseless, Light spoke first:

“He is my roommate.”

“Oh. You never mentioned a roommate. ”

L was quick to answer. Light could feel his back stiffening as he spoke: 

“I asked him not to mention me to anyone. I don’t want people talking behind my back. ”

Thomas’ face lit up as his mind connected the dots.

 “So whenever Hikaru wouldn’t go out because he was seeing someone…that was you? Are you the jealous roommate type?”

Light let out an offended gasp he hoped nobody heard. Luckily, some loud laugh drowned it out.

L claimed his teeth were too sharp. While that might be true, he still had a very nice smile. This is really not to time to compliment him. Not even in your head, Light thought. He had heard L’s laugh once or twice but always in private. It was strangely exciting to see him acting like that in public.

“Oh, you are mistaken. I am not Hikaru’s chaperone. Not at all. I don’t intend to monitor his every move.”

That was just too much. “What are you doing here, then?” Light hissed.

L looked right at him for the first time that night. Had he been working on that look? Was he improvising the jealous boyfriend act? Was he even aware that jealousy looked that good on him?

“I figured my…roommate might be too tired to walk home and too careful to ask strangers to give him a lift – don’t take that the wrong way. So, I decided to spend my free-time in the most benevolent way. I am showing a kinder side of me and expect…Hikaru to appreciate it. Let’s bring you back home safely. What do you say?”

Thomas couldn’t know that a terrible fight lay ahead. That’s why he allowed himself a joke:

”That’s funny, because Hikaru was just telling me he’d love to have a chauffeur that would drive him around his whole life. Seems he already has one! ”

Never had Light felt so much hatred towards someone.

“This is not what I said, actually -”

“Really?” L interrupted him. His accent sounded excessively British, “That doesn’t surprise me at all. So typical of him.”

Light was too well-mannered to punch L or, more reasonably, to tell him to shut up in front of someone else. He mentally praised himself for his self-control and did what he had to in order to have a chance at winning this argument: leave.

“We better be off. It’s getting late and Leigh is afraid of the dark. See you around,” Light said, grabbing L’s arm.

“Last I noticed, you were the one who always complained it’s too dark. I don’t fear the darkness, as you can imagine.”

Thomas looked at them as they drew away in the night. He was fairly certain they weren’t really roommates.

 

* * *

 

**German Night : Act II**

Luckily, both L and Light told their version of the story at some point in their lives. It was one of the rare pages of L’s diary they could save. Near miraculously deciphered his sharp and twitchy handwriting.  It was not his usual way of writing. While L’s handwriting at least betrayed his feelings, Yagami wrote in the same affected, terribly controlled fashion that he spoke.

The final result? A semi-honest story which Mello’s narration hopefully brought closer to reality. (It had been terrible for Mello to accept L was a questionable human being, morally speaking. He had learnt one important lesson, as an artist: terrible people make good characters.)

They headed back home in silence for a while. It was not the comfortable silence you share with someone special. It was the kind of silence everyone hates but nobody can break for fear of being seen as weak. L was driving in silence; Light was pretending to be interested by what was happening outside of the car. After a while, he wasn’t pretending anymore. He caught a few envious looks from pedestrians – right, L allowed him the luxury of sulking in his brand new BMW. If these people knew what kind of person L really was, they would run away to the simple comfort of their tasteless apartment rather than spend one minute with him.

But then again, L was brilliant and so much better than all of them. And Light was better too, since he could put up with L.

Meanwhile, L was surpassing himself in terms of rudeness. He committed a couple traffic violations and failed to give way on purpose until he had to stop at a red light. Light finally breathed again, determined not to talk. Somehow, immobility made the silence hard to ignore and even harder not to break.

When L opened his mouth, Light resisted the urge to cheer.

“What are you waiting for, Light Yagami? What’s happening? You should have been talking long enough to have reached the point where your voice goes so high-pitched nobody can even pretend to listen anymore.”

Typical L. He must have been really proud of that one.

Light shrugged as to demonstrate his indifference. “If you think I’m going to talk with my chauffeur, you’re wrong.”

“Are you mad at me? The man who’s driving you home in a wonderful sports car? You enjoy making an impression. I thought you’d appreciate that.”

“Don’t. Don’t talk about me like this. You’re not some old Hollywood magnate and I am not the starlet who’s desperate to break through!”

“A starlet would appreciate that kind of favours for what they are – simple favours. Not only  are you ungrateful but you’re paranoid too, Light Yagami.”

“I know you. I can’t believe you showing up in front of one of the rare people I talk to these days, is a mere coincidence. You are jealous and that’s why you pretend to be interested in my life outside of your apartment.”

The light turned green. L’s hands clenched the wheel.

“Spare me your whining. I’m not interested in your life? Really ? Let’s see where you’d be if it wasn’t for me. Nobody would have saved you, so…you’d probably have lost your mind over time and unleashed a reign of terror over the entire planet. Once you had decimated the entire prison population, you’d have resorted to imaginary enemies so you wouldn’t be the last criminal on earth. I guess anyone who opposes you would have been eliminated, typical dictator technique. Your father included. What a moral conflict for Kira! I’d be lying if I claimed I wasn’t curious about the outcome of that tragic face-off. Anyway, let’s say I arrested you but didn’t care about you. Where would I send a criminal I’d just caught? To be judged, I suppose. Well, you’d have been hanged no doubt. That would have been for the best. See, prisons are full of bad people who hate you. How many criminals would have been eager to show Kira a good time, I wonder.”

L ignored Light’s outraged gasp.

”I am offering you a chance to redeem yourself. You can still study and, were you brave enough, communicate with your family. You’re even allowed to go outside. With that you claim I’m not interested in your life? For what exactly? Because I don’t want to hear about the boys sniffing around you? Interesting fact, though: I haven’t seen you talk to a girl in three months. Could it be…could it be that Light Yagami finally came out of the closet he barricaded himself in for so long?”

At that point of the story, the authors of The Life and Time felt they had to justify L’s behaviour. He had been their mentor. In spite of his numerous flaws and his bad temper, they owed him that much.

L shielded himself so as not to get hurt but that wasn’t all. He was utterly paranoid. If someone broke through his defenses, he’d certainly come up with a plan just in case this person were to wound him. Some would say he’d be looking for revenge. In fact, it would be far more bitter and cruel than a mere revenge.

L was the type of person who doesn’t see the point in having an enemy get a taste of their own medicine unless they nearly choke on it. Instinctively, L knew exactly what he had to say to hurt Light. Were he less intelligent, he wouldn’t have seemed so cruel.

“I feel that you are playing with me, Light. I won’t tolerate that.”

Light blinked back tears with dignity. He was too much of a sore loser to withdraw. So, he did what most 21 years old, genius or not, would have done: he persisted.

”I asked you to live with me, even though I knew how insufferable you can be. You think I go to university to flirt with men? And why - why are you spying on me, by the way? I thought you trusted me!”

“One question at a time, young man. Remember that I have the upper hand here. Yes, I spied on you because I’m supposed to monitor your every move or did you forget? You don’t get a special favour just because we happen to …” L stopped to yell at a driver he decided was too slow.

Light was going to call him out on his bad manners when he realised they weren’t heading to Schöneberg.

“Where are you driving me?”

L looked surprised – you could almost believe the innocence in his big grey eyes to be sincere. Then the answer came.

“Well, I am abducting you, Light Yagami.”

Light rolled his eyes. “I already told you: your jokes will never be funny.”

“I wanted to scare you so I would get to see that fearful expression on your face. The one that makes you look like a scared bunny. Too bad. ”

“What did I do to deserve this?” Light sighed.

He should never have shown signs of anxiety in front of L. That's why Light never left anything to chance. As soon as those you love discover who you really are, you have no way out. No secrets left. He still couldn’t accept it was for the best.

Light stiffened a little at every turn the car took. What if L was better with helicopters after all? No. He could not die so young and still disgraced.

“That’s enough. Where are we going? Explain yourself.”

“Calm down, it’s all part of the plan. We’re not going home so soon. I know you never go out so you can spend your evenings with me. I appreciate the gesture, as well as your devotion. I figured we should do something exciting together, for a change.”

L knew how to choose his moment; Light granted him that. I suppose I could give him another chance. He’s clearly wrong, but maybe I can get something out of his guilt, he thought. Light was not to be outdone when it came to making excuses.

“But before that, we’re stopping at the pastry shop. I need Apfelstrüdel now.”

Apparently, even guilt couldn’t ruin his monstrous appetite.

 

* * *

 

**German Night : Act III**

The third act of this German night was special. For once, the authors of the Life and Time could claim with no trace of doubt that their information was reliable. It came from the only person Mello and Near trusted: one another. Unlike their mentor’s, their egos were small and fragile. L’s first lesson was: do not trust anyone except yourself. Mello and Near got the first part right. They had substituted ‘yourself’ with ‘each other’ and somehow, it worked.

Mello, Near, along with Matt had witnessed that scene. They could assert it was entirely true, for once. “The dream,” Matt had commented, years later, as the book was soon to be published, “Berlin is gonna be the best chapter”.

Mello had blenched: “I don’t know if I want to tell everything.”

At the time Near looked like X-Men’s Professor Xavier, only with hair. That resemblance gave him a new authority over his colleagues. “Care to explain why we shouldn’t tell everything, Mello? We agreed that they had brought it on themselves, in the end. They took responsibility for everything they did – or so they claimed, right?”

“You clearly haven’t read all the stuff L wrote.” Mello shivered, “I insist: we won’t tell everything they did in Berlin. You don’t want to know how they spend their time when they weren’t investigating a case together.”  Then, he muttered something that sounded an awful lot like: “Too kinky for my taste.”

Matt and Near had agreed not to go into details, out of compassion for Mello. They toned down some of the wild nights and languorous mornings L and Light spent together in Berlin. Most of them weren’t even embarrassing, and even those which involved costumes had been mind-blowing (in L’s own words).

In spite of the time that had passed, Mello couldn’t bring himself to write about L that way. He knew Berlin was well endowed with sex shops and he always had the intuition that the Great Detective and his Nemesis were not the vanilla type. But he’d had to face the truth in a very brutal manner. L’s feelings were intense and his writing reflected that.

There is a great difference between sensing and knowing. Before, they only suspected it all. How not to draw such conclusions from the scene they witnessed in 2007?

In L and Light’s defense, they weren’t expecting Mello and Near to show up in Berlin. L’s successors were still very young at the time and relished surprises. Not as much as a special dish called revenge, though. L had left them to travel the world alongside Kira. They knew it was for a supposedly good cause – Kira’s "redemption." Still, they felt entitled to be rude and figured they could do much worse than visiting them unannounced after all.

Luckily, Mello had a new found love for German punk-rock and dressed for the occasion – in Berlin, it meant being invisible. He had convinced Matt to do the same. Bondage pants and provoking belt buckles were the perfect camouflage. Not that anyone knew who they really were…but it counterbalanced Near’s trademark white outfit – which, for once, wasn’t pajamas.

Thanks to Aiber’s information, it didn’t take long to locate L’s apartment in Schöneberg.

“Look there is even a name," Matt noticed, “Leigh Wronski, Private Detective”

Mello gave a faint smile. “Wronski comes from the Russian word Vorona. It means Raven. If L has to make a name up, it’s going to be symbolic.”

“He’s more of a crow, really. But I get the point,” Near whispered.

“Leigh sounds like Light, doesn’t it?” Matt said, “Maybe he does love him afterall.”

Mello pretended not to hear them, took a deep breath and rang. They stood in front of the closed door for a few minutes before accepting it wouldn’t open any time soon.

“They’re not here…both of them?” Mello said. There was frustration mingling with his disappointment, “It’s really late, though…”

He frowned and began to play with the lock.

“You’re picking the lock?” Near asked. He didn’t sound too surprised. “But why?”

You could feel it in his voice: he wanted to break in but expected Mello to provide a justification for it.

“Aren’t you curious to see what their place looks like? They won’t be there to keep an eye on us! It’s even better. We’re L now anyway, we’re above human laws. Come on.”

It didn’t take much convincing for Matt and Near to nod in agreement. Yet, Mello’s justification was a barefaced lie. They cared about the law and respected it a lot more than L did. But every rule has its exception.

“Where did you learn to pick a lock?”

“Wedy taught me. Yeah, Wedy likes me, don’t be jealous.”

The door creaked open with these words. Mello, Near and Matt stayed silent for a few seconds, abashed. That was it. Their mentor’s inner sanctum. They could only get a glimpse of the whole new world before them, but it was enough to intimidate them.

They finally crossed the doorstep only to discover an apartment which suspiciously resembled a hotel suite. Intentionally or not, Light and L always lived in immense, barely furnished apartments. They fancied pieces of art, although their tastes were dubious at best. There was a bay window and two king-size beds – were they still pretending to be friends or were they crazy enough to prepare for the day they couldn’t stand each other?

As they explored the apartment further, Mello’s heart finally stopped pounding. He realized he was hungry and headed towards the kitchen. He fumbled in the kitchen cupboards for food. The candies stacked in there numbered in the hundreds.

Mello had just found a chocolate bar when someone rang.

“It’s them!” Matt exclaimed, “What are we supposed to do?”

Near wasn’t listening. “Say, I was looking through their music – who listens to Lenny Kravitz, according to you? I believe it’s L.” Then he met Mello’s gaze and said: “They’re not criminals. Well, not anymore, in Yagami’s case. We have nothing to fear.”

Mello raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “L trusted us. He will not kill us, but we’re going to suffer all the same. I don’t want to – hey, but why did they ring anyway? They’re supposed to have the keys to their own apartment. ”

At that moment, they heeded the distinctive sound of a key someone repeatedly tried to insert into the lock. Then, there were two voices that sounded sometimes annoyed, sometimes frantic.

“How difficult is it to open a door, Light Yagami? If you fail again, I’ll ring once more.”

“It would be easier if you could stop clinging to me.”

“I’m going to cling to you, you have no idea.”

“Was that supposed to be an innuendo? You’re overdoing it.”

The clinking sound of the keys stopped. Mello, Near and Matt exchanged a knowing look. They wouldn’t open the door; it was their turn to have a little fun. Their curiosity wouldn’t remain unsatisfied. Perhaps that was immoral, but the spectacle was too rare and entertaining to be missed. Matt was the tallest and volunteered to watch the scene through the door’s spyhole.

L had fought not to let the heat climb to his face, but his pale complexion betrayed him. By some miracle, Light’s impeccable skin had not gone red which gave more credibility to Near’s claims that he was a robot. Or maybe he did wear make-up. He was slightly disheveled though – something sober Light would never tolerate. Both were excessively clingy and needy.

L and Light displayed a behavior only seen with people who haven’t yet accepted the shameful truth: they can’t hold their drink. They insisted in doing normal things which only made their state more obvious. In that moment, they seemed to have forgotten their surroundings, the closed door and the dim-lighted streets. They looked at each other in their own special way. Light stared at L as if in a reverie he couldn’t snap out of. L gazed at Light curiously for a while, before a flash of eagerness stole over his eyes.

L was quick to pin Light against the door.

“Who – who do you think you are?” Light protested, his voice quavering. He looked entranced but managed to flick his eyes away from L.

“Don’t even try, Light. You can’t lie to me,” L felt intensely; alcohol made that passion swell. He straightened his grip as Light tried to flex his arms. “We’re passed the point of denial, don’t you think?”

“I’m not denying anything. Don’t do that in public, that’s all I ask.”

L gave one his rare genuine smiles. “I can’t believe you still won’t come out of that closet. It’s time. Anyway, most people assume you’re gay the second they meet you. What are you so afraid of? We can handle a few bullies, Light... You know what – don’t stop, discussing your homosexuality is the only thing that makes you blush, really. I can’t let it go so easily.” L said, his voice pitched lower than usual. He leaned closer.

Were that closed door not standing between them, Mello would have taken a mental picture of that moment. As much as Mello despised Yagami and the idea of L with Yagami, he knew how beautiful that lustful embrace would look in a photograph.

Then, Light pushed L away and the moment was lost forever.

“For the love of God, Light, we slept together! Surely you can give us a kiss!” L snapped. His faint smile was long gone and his eyes sparkled with sheer frustration.

“No, not here. This is a terrible idea. I should just – I should open the door.”

L grabbed his wrist. “You’re so frustrating, Light! You kissed me one hour ago in a crowded bar. Why does it bother you now?”

“That was different, alright? Everybody was doing it, we didn’t stand out. Why – why am I even justifying myself? You have a problem, you can’t take no for an answer! You keep on distracting me when I’m just trying to open this stupid door. I kept on using the wrong key, it’s all your fault,” Light blurted out.

As Light talked, a smirk grew on L’s lips. Light had a point: he couldn’t handle being rejected. Especially by someone he was obsessed with. But Light’s tone was so whiny L couldn’t help but resorting to childish tactics.

“It’s all your fault if I’m gay, L. I don’t need you reading me Japanese poems of erotica! Stop massaging my feet and kissing my lips, all I want is a woman worshipping my perfect body!” L said in a pretty convincing rendition of Light. His body language mirrored Light’s affected gestures.

“I certainly don’t talk like that,” Light hissed.

“Oh you do. Listen: I am Light Yagami and I love brunettes with glasses because they remind me of Yamamoto, some irrelevant heterosexual man who rejected me in high school.”

“You’re jealous and paranoid. I spent the whole evening with you even though everyone was watching me. I could have had anyone I wanted.”

“That guy who kept offering you drinks looked like Yamamoto. Don’t you think? Don’t tell me you hadn’t noticed.”

“Would you stop with Yamamoto? I barely remember him.” Nothing, even Jägermeister, was strong enough to free Light from his one true addiction: lying.

Yamamoto had wounded Light’s ego by refusing to answer his greeting card, all those years ago. Light couldn’t forget a slight.

“Of course you remember him,” L said, and there was a strange sweetness in his voice, “How disappointing it must have been. Did you give him a strained smile and pretended to be amused by his slightly homophobic joke? Yes, that’s exactly what you did. Oh, Light…”

“I do regret not having returned the insult,” Light admitted. His eyes met L’s and he felt he had already said too much. “But you’re overreacting. It’s not important,” he lied again.

It was a matter of pride, actually. Nothing Light could simply brush of. He wished he could have shown Yamamoto what he was missing. Regrets and frustration mingled into a cocktail that was even more nauseating than the Bloody Mary he had ingested two hours ago.

“What are you thinking of, Light? You look so serious, all of a sudden.”

Light reached for L’s hand. L watched the gesture, grey eyes wide with surprise.

“You were right earlier. I have been distant and too cautious, I suppose…Listen, your intensity is intimidating, while I tend to shut off…emotionally. Anyway…you said something earlier, about us. We’ve only brushed the calm surface of the ocean, when we should be exploring the depths. That’s what you said. Do you understand what I am getting at?”

Words were slipping out like a stream; of course, Light blamed it on the alcohol.

“I said that? I wouldn’t use that kind of metaphor.” L shook his head, “Not that it matters. I agree with you. That is, if you’re talking about sex. I have a pair of handcuffs somewhere, I believe,” L answered, his eyes flitting from their intertwined hands to Light’s insisting gaze. “Not the ones we wore for the investigation, those were terribly painful. Although, you might not mind the pain? I don’t, personally”

“You kept the handcuffs?”

“Why, yes.”

At that, Light let go of L’s hand and grabbed his waist instead. L felt own his heartbeat increase in tempo and he knew Light did too. He relished that sentiment. Then, Light’s lips came down, faster and much harder than usual. He kissed L and it felt as if he wanted to let go of everything that ever stood in his way. He allowed himself to be sincere. Everything about that kiss was sensual – the way Light licked his lips and then leaned into L’s mouth forcing him to moan and sigh; and his fingers digging into L’s back making him arch. And his smile as he was nipping his bottom lip…

Then, his kisses moved to L’s jaw. L pulled back, “Not here. Let’s get those handcuffs.”

They had opened the door on the three-headed entity that was the new L. A cold shower would have been less efficient.

Light and L stared at them, eyes dark and wide, as you look at someone you know but can’t quite place. Then, L said, his hand resting on Light’s shoulder:

“Why are you here. You shouldn’t be here.”

Mello, Near and Matt never knew how the rest of the night went down. Had they ruined it? Probably not. L and Light pretended not to be madly in love with each other, but nothing could pry them away. They were the only ones able to destroy their relationship.

After that, Light barely ever went out with anyone other than L. He allowed himself to feel more intensely, more sincerely through L. Why would he need anyone else? It was hard enough to deal with. The terrifying realization that you can’t breathe without someone. He reassured himself knowing L felt the same way.

The rare times he accepted an invitation, the same fancy car was always waiting for him at midnight. It was his own carriage, like a modern-day Cinderella, L had teased him. He didn’t mean it as an insult – L loved fairytales almost as much as mocking Light’s persistent misogyny.

“Get in the car, princess.” L had ordered, not minding the dozens of people who could hear him clearly addressing a young man and calling him princess. Light’s face had become pale and drawn.

The next day, L had apologized by getting Light a pair of Lanvin. His own very special glass slippers.

So began their German adventures and their relationship. Light and L became more and more obsessed with each other; fascinated by the alter-ego they would never quite understand. Beyond the surface, they were the same. They were both staring at the water, entranced by a reflection so similar to theirs, but it wasn’t quite narcissism, was it?

* * *

 

**Interlude**

For the record, the second and last time Light ever drank Jägermeister, he demonstrated a courage nobody thought he was even capable of.

It was the day he turned 24. He had succeeded in returning to Japan, had faced his parents, embraced his sister and almost managed to forgive himself for the sorrow he caused them.

Yet, he was incapable of going through the birthday party Sayu had thrown for him without getting at least a little drunk. He had to space-out in order to handle any Kira-related discussion, at least. Light considered he had done his part by explaining why he had disappeared for three entire years while being completely sober.

(The authors of the Life and Time were careful not to spoil it for their readers – so they had to hide the fact that at that point, L and Light had broken up. Light Yagami was still able to fake his way through life though, in spite of the nagging feeling of emptiness haunting him.)

The day he turned 24, Light Yagami quarreled with an old friend. Alcohol betrayed him: it did nothing to soothe his anxiety. On the contrary, it had made his nerves raw and his eyes ablaze with anger as Yamamoto started to mock Hideki Ryûga. Of course, he wasn’t referring to the pop-star.

“Maybe he was too wild or bad-mannered for your taste, but don’t speak like that in front of me. In 10 years, you wouldn’t be half the man I am and not even a quarter of the man he is.”

Sayu was aware of her brother’s narcissism; she that ignored he could be so loyal to another man. She felt she was only just discovering who her brother truly was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time we go to Paris! yay!


	3. Parisian memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HERE IT IS. That chapter was complicated to write because I had started it in French, decided it was easier to write directly in English in the midst of it, proceeded to write the rest in English AND went back to translate the French parts.  
> It's longer than the previous one because I couldn't stop myself at some point. Sorry. Remember when I said this was supposed to be a one-shot? Gosh.  
> I don't know why I made the smutty part this way but I found it really entertaining to write and Madame M is a darling.  
> Next time, we go to Tokyo and London, yay.  
> As always, I apologise for the occasional mistakes. As always, I thank you all for your incredible support!

**Paris (2009-2011)**

* * *

 

The very first draft of the Paris chapter included some scandalous scenes – gossip-provoking scenes, even. The kind of revelations that would have darkened the legacy of Tokyo’s ex-mayor Light Yagami. Not that his legacy wasn’t dubious already.

Although these scenes had been removed from the final manuscript, the note Near insisted on adding prompted numerous discussions on the internet; most of them revolved around Light Yagami’s private life.

 

* * *

 

**M’s note (before chapter III : Paris)**

Paris ignited their bond, turning a burning fire into inferno. It was too much, too soon. The end was near, they sensed it somewhere along the way, but they ignored the signs. That feeling of wholeness was overwhelming, addictive. A cure against the loneliness that ravaged them both. How could they give that up?

They devoted themselves to each other for their own pleasure. We respect L too much to divulge everything they experimented in France. The satisfaction it provided our mentor with was so great he felt the need to write about it in a small, red notebook. It finished up in Yagami’s hands – he claimed L’s meticulous retelling of their escapades embarrassed him. He never ceased to lie, especially to us. He kept that notebook until the end of his life.

He loved to see his own name scrawled across every page covered with L’s handwriting.

Years after they left Paris, one of Yagami’s colleagues confided in us. Rumour had it Tokyo’s mayor only reluctantly travelled to France for work and would often trust someone else with it. Did he fear half-remembered memories of his nights in the Marais would jump on him in the midst of a speech?

Light Yagami’s grand redemption had taken a turn some would judge severely. The Life and Time did not employ an accusatory tone. It was easy to explain L and Light’s behaviour: they had sabotaged the first part of their existence. Light had been blinded by his own reflection – the fantasized image of himself he had surrendered to. L had chosen to grow without light, his face made indiscernible by the mask that had given his life a purpose.

Loneliness had eaten them up for so long – of course, finding the echo of their own voice awakened something buried deep inside them.

They were different in many ways but felt in the same all-consuming, extreme fashion; bodies yearning for ravaging ecstasy, souls longing to be stripped bare.

They waltzed in Berlin; body against body, slowly unmasking each other, always careful not to trip and fall on the other. Paris was a languorous, dangerous dance; it was a tango, something more beautiful, intense. They pushed and hurt and bit each other, reveled in the darkest desires of their alter-ego. The cure turned into poison, and they drank, they drank until they choked on it. The dance was over.

* * *

 

They lived in Paris as the morally ambiguous main characters of a book. They paraded in suits made-to-measure under the dim lights of theatres and cabarets; escaped backstage when they got tired of the looks and talks. L was seen in the most renowned _pâtisseries_ , an elegant young man mincing at his side.

Their demons waned in Berlin; they awakened in time to take part in the Parisian delights, relentlessly stalking the pair. Two in particular chased after them.

L over-indulged – he was fluent in French but would only show his talents to chefs and _pâtissiers_. For a while, Light cherished the moments he could hear him order _“Douze éclairs, quarante macarons, dix baba au rhum et enfin...un vacherin, s'il vous plait._ _Oh. Un café pour mon ami. Sans sucre._ _“_

Inevitably, Light grew tired of the pastry debauchery. A simple strawberry tartlet and he blenched. Meringues terrified him – small and immaculate and practically invisible. These sticky nightmares were everywhere in their apartment.

L was excessive; he considered food a healthy addiction, at least. However, Light refused to admit L had a reason to surrender to it.

How could he put up with a pathological liar otherwise, he who feared lies but detected them everywhere? He lived, grieving for the rare flickers of sincerity he saw dying in Light’s eyes every day. Light’s demon wasn’t an addiction; it was a choice he made years ago. To redeem himself, Light knew he had to lose the masks; he didn’t know how. He couldn’t bring himself to see what lurked under them.

So, he kept on deceiving everybody, in a more passive way.

And L played along. Until curtain call.

 

* * *

 

**Mr Yagami’s ennui.**

Light’s slender fingers danced across the armchair. It was soft and silky like a the back of a cat. He contemplated getting a Siamese for a minute and remembered L was against it. He couldn’t afford such a distinguished animal on his own. He had to give that idea up, along with many others.

Light looked up and fixed his eyes on L. Sat on the couch in front of him, the detective hadn’t yet sensed his look. It was terribly exciting to observe this mysterious being without him knowing. The image of a Siamese, this splendid and irritable animal, flickered in the back of Light’s mind. He was careful not to idealise L. Siamese are very picky and certainly not for everyone to domesticate, after all. Most would prefer a dog, loyal and affectionate. As for Light, he would pick sensuality over kindness any day.

L didn’t feel Light’s eyes lingering on him because his attention was focused on a music sheet.  Truly, L was walking in Sherlock Holmes’ steps. He had decided to learn to play the violin, as Watari found it fit to give him one of these magnificent instruments as a gift. Perhaps he hoped L would replace one obsession by another, less criminal. Light thought L was the only one in the world to have forgiven him.

But they never really broached the subject of Kira, these days. It was as if L had washed Light’s bloody hands in silence and had placed one of his slender fingers on Light’s mouth when he threatened to ask him why. Light didn’t try to ask again.

“Are you bored, Light?” L demanded, his voice clear. He hadn’t look up from the music sheet.

Light wanted to say yes but he didn’t want to deal with the consequences of that answer. Boredom was a dangerous word to utter. Light was wary of saying any word whose effect he couldn’t foresee. He locked up that word somewhere in the back of his mind, carefully; as some would hide a gift from someone they once loved because the sight of it makes them sick. Some people just can’t get let go of the past.

Light didn’t feel _entitled_ to. That was different. Forgetting Kira was a privilege he had to struggle not to take.

“I’m not,” he answered. “I was just looking at you." He veiled his lies under flattering half-truths.

Of course, L didn’t believe him. He was starting to distrust Light completely; loving him still but ignoring his rare moments of sincerity. It hurt too much, and L didn’t want to hurt anymore. He only craved the ecstasy; the imminence of danger in Light’s eyes, not the actual pain. Light dreaded any confession would be classified as a barefaced lie in L’s mind, so he kept everything for him.

L was frustrated by Light’s lack of courage.

He got up his feet and reached for the violin. He started to play, glaring at Light.

“You’re not going to say anything?” Light deplored but the melody covered his words.

Light strode across the room to the windows. He pulled the curtains back together to escape the sun’s blinding light. He loved these curtains, appreciated the softness of them under his fingers. Paris had sharpened Light’s obsession with appearances. He had their apartment decorated in an elegant, slightly precious fashion. That wasn’t just that. All his life he had dressed efficiently, so as to mingle in his environment. In Paris, Light would dress to seduce, to fascinate. It worked terribly well.

Light’s world had always been a stage he would parade in, proud and spotless as a china doll. Light even strode across his own apartment as a comedian on the boards. It was no surprise that his apartment looked like a film set.

The furniture of their Parisian apartment belonged to them but nothing really represented them. Only a handful of objects were truly dear to them - the gifts they had given each other.  
  
Light leaned on one of these presents, a sculpture whose shape was hard to define. He had bought it for L.

What they had in common in their solitude was compensated with a great discrepency in their tastes. 

Light observed L from a distance. The detective’s fingers were clasped on the bow and he played with a calm expression etched on his face. It was rare to see him like this. He was entirely devoted to the music he created.  The sight of him guiding the bow over the violin’s strings was entrancing.

Another melody snapped Light out of his reverie – L had stopped playing and was talking to him.

"You’re hiding something from me," L said. Light blinked. A strange feeling of guilt stirred in the pit of his stomach.

"You made progress in many regards, Light, but you are still a dishonest man."

“You call me dishonest…” Light said pensively, as if he didn’t know how to react and needed time to determine the appropriate answer. _Dishonest_. He couldn’t deny that.

L tilted his head to catch Light’s averted eyes in vain. He let out a sigh.

“Stop behaving like a spoiled brat, Light. Tell me what’s wrong. Do you want me to get the words out of you?”

Light fixed his gaze on L at that. “You call me dishonest and it may be true. Then again, I don’t have any honest man to look up to anymore, L.”

He folded his arms. “…Or should I call you Lawrence, or Louis…what are they calling you these days?”

L crossed the space between them, throwing away the violin on the couch beside him.

“This is not being dishonest. This is me, being careful and paranoid as I have always been.”

Light holds L’s gaze unflinchingly, refusing to lose.

“And THEY aren’t calling me," L continued, “You are the only one I tolerate.”

 “Oh, you’re only _tolerating_ me now?” Light said, his lips involuntarily curling up into a bitter, resentful smile. “I should have seen this coming. You finally realized you sabotaged your own existence, didn’t you? You got up and it hit you, the realization that you were sleeping with a criminal?”

L opened his mouth, closed it again. He shook his head. “You’re not making any sense and you know why?”

“I wouldn’t claim to know what’s happening in my head.”

Compassion crossed L’s face, soothing the anger on his features. “You feel guilty. It’s normal.”

“I am guilty, L.”

L placed a hand on Light’s shoulder, “I wasn’t talking about Kira.”

Light felt L’s grip tightening. “I know you’ve slept with someone else," he said, his voice lower. An expression of utter sadness passed across L’s features. It was short-lived.

“I didn’t,” Light tried, but he couldn't bring himself to sound convincing.

“I’m not mad at you. We never said we were a couple. Not really.”

L’s hand went from Light’s shoulder to his neck. His touch was so soft, so wistful, Light could barely breathe.

"Don’t take it personally. It doesn't mean anything. I can’t explain why I did it. That was all about you, not against you…" His voice trailed off and he stopped talking.

L gave Light a faint smile, his fingers still dancing across the soft skin of his neck. “Oh I know it wasn’t personal. It’s worse than that, actually.”

“Worse…?”

“You’re afraid of anything remotely sincere, Light. For some reason yet unknown to me, reality terrifies you, even when it takes the form of someone you have affection for. You like me, you fascinate me. We’re made for each other – and I don’t say that lightly. I mean it. We’re halves of a whole, and you say that to me sometimes, you know. Perhaps you don’t realise it.”

Light felt the heat climbing up to his face. “Get to the point!”

“What we have is so intense and it feels so great, it scares you.”

Light gave a demure smile. “I will never be scared of you”

L mirrored his smile.

Silence took over, and L removed his hand from Light’s neck.

“Do you forgive me?” Light heard himself say. He sounded too young and way too weak.

L never answered that.

*

Light tugged his shirt to straighten it. He admired the golden silk threads that slithered around the black sleeves. It was fancy but discreet. For once, it wasn’t a gift from L

The whole thing was already his idea; he figured he could at least dress the way he wanted to.

Of course, L disagreed.

“Why are you dressed like that?” he asked, as if Light had just started frantically killing criminals again.

“Watch your tone," Light said, his eyes fixed on the mirror. He considered wearing a vest over his shirt but decided it was too formal for the occasion. He wasn’t sure of what L had in mind, but it probably wasn’t anything fancy. Light was willing to bet on the cabaret.

L prowled towards him. “Is that an order?”

Light sighed. It was always harder to think with L’s arms wrapped around his waist.

“As much as I appreciate these clothes on you," L whispered in his ear, “We’re not leaving the apartment tonight.”

Light turned around to face L. “I beg your pardon?”

“I have a surprise," L answered in a strange sing-song voice.

Something bitter stirred in the pit of Light’s stomach. He recognized this tone – L hadn’t forgotten and he certainly hadn’t forgiven his so-called infidelity.

L, who feared abandonment, how could he forgive that?

It was too late to make excuses. And anyway, he promised he’d take responsibility for his mistakes now. He thought of a boy who killed and pretended it was his fate to sleep better at night.

That boy had grew up, right?

He found himself craving alcohol.

 

* * *

 

**_Madame M’s strangest night_ **

 

I’m a libertine and I look down on anyone who claims men are the only ones allowed to venerate Don Juan’s lifestyle. Of course, a libertine’s existence is seasoned with the most bizarre and unforgettable experiences. Some I wish I could forget; others I cherish. That one, though, I’m still wondering.

I met Monsieur Lawrence at the theatre. I was sat next to him and immediately noticed his incredibly long fingers. There was something very sensual in his allure. The play was erotic but tedious, so we talked. As politeness requires it, we tried not to mention sex – but, as I said, the play was of an erotic kind so one way or another, the subject had to be brought up. At some point, we evoked our respective partners – mine were numerous but he had only one. A Japanese young man whose name he kept secret. The play ended, we exchanged numbers and he called me a few weeks later.

He asked me to call him L because his boyfriend fantasized on the Greatest Detective. I didn’t care, but whatever. I couldn’t fathom how two pieces so different could ever work together. And then, I knew.

It begins when L (let’s call him that) smiles at me and walk me to the room. I figure it’s the first time they invite anyone into their bedroom pretty quickly – I don’t mind.

I notice the ropes and remember L mentioning Shibari.

Then, I meet the boyfriend’s gaze. He could as well have etched ‘I am over 20 and still barricaded in the closet’ on his forehead. He is sat on the bed, sipping a glass of red wine. It’s half-empty, already. He looks at me the way a prince eyes a commoner. I hold his gaze. He turns to L, locks his eyes on him.

“ _That’s_ your surprise?”

I freeze, miraculously resisting the urge to slap that brat. I can’t say anything either – it seems surreal. I hate his voice; excessively sweet like a cheap pastry.

“You told me there was no problem," I remind L.

“But there aren’t any," he answers.

They’re staring at each other in silence. I have been disenchanted more than once in my existence as a self-proclaimed libertine but never quite like that.

There is only the sound of the Japanese Brat sipping for a moment; he doesn’t flinch when L advances on him. I wonder why he took so much time to finally confront his brat of a boyfriend. Perhaps he didn’t want to do anything regrettable in front of me. Instinctively, I retreat on the couch in front of their bed and hope they forget about me. I want to see how the story unfolds.

“Stop drinking when you know you can’t handle it," L says, his voice turning colder by the second.

Brat-Boyfriend throws a passive-aggressive smile at him. “I know my limits. I was an honor student.” I chuckle at that but he doesn’t see me. “Clearly, _you_ don’t. Can’t get satisfaction with only one lover? You had to get a woman, too?”

I don’t even feel attacked. It’s clearly the continuation of a feud between them and I have nothing to do with it – I’m almost glad I get to see how it ends. It’s like getting free tickets in the front-row of a show I never would have _considered_ watching, except I’m sure not to be disappointed.

They argue for some time and I pour myself wine in a glass that was probably supposed to be L’s. It’s Bordeaux – the bastards have good taste.

“Do I have to ask the lady to leave, Light?”

The brat’s name is an unusual one; I feel L loves to pronounce it.

Light rolls his sleeves up to the elbows and announces: “No. Let’s get to it. I still want you.”

I wonder why he didn’t urge me to leave. Perhaps he’d rather ignore my existence. Regardless, he seems determined not to look at me ever again.

Light grabs L’s collar, pulls him down on the bed on top of him. The next second, his hands are meticulously getting rid of every item of clothing L is wearing, except for his boxer briefs. I must say I’m impressed. Were it a show, I would have cheered enthusiastically – both at Light’s performance and L’s Tim Burtonian physique. (I have to admit, his bony structure has an entrancing quality to it. I decide to keep his number after tonight just in case)

Light kisses his way down L’s neck, slowly, almost cruelly. He knows it’s a weakness of his, I guess, since his smile widens with every noise that comes out L’s throat.

L retaliates by stripping him off his designer shirt with minimum care. His boyfriend protests but L says shut up gently with a kiss. They part and Light protests again, his voice slightly more high-pitched. L kisses him again – it’s a punishment, not a threat this time. He bites the brat’s lower lip, sucks it red and whispers something in his ear that forces him into silence.

They’re still arguing, only with a little less conversation.

I’m seriously considering fetching pop-corn and maybe a notebook to write down the scores. I don’t, only because I would hate to miss any second of it – HBO shows were never this fascinating. I have everything I need: multi-layered bastardish characters, gratuitous gay porn and a glass of the very best French wine. I never was so excited not to get laid. I am not part of the scene, I am excluded from the stage and forced to sit in the audience. It’s unexpected but not unpleasant.

“If you really want to join us, I could convince him, perhaps," L breathes against his boyfriend’s skin. He’s kissing his way down Light’s ludicrously perfect body. I decide not to answer and notice the scratches on both their skins instead. I suppress a shiver – I know passion, but there is something morbid in the way they’re pining after one another.

For some reason, I’m reminded of la Mort des Amants. I’m willing to bet it’s one of L’s favourites poems.

I see Light’s back arching as L somehow manages to unzip his jeans with his mouth – L strikes me as the kind of guy who can kiss his way out of any difficulty.

“Is there something you _can’t_ do with your mouth?” the Brat says in a rush. At least, I think it’s what he says because his Japanese accent is starting to show.

I make up my mind about them while Light’s breath speeds up to a short, shaky pant. It’s clear they were never interested in having a threesome. There is no room for another player here. No, I am a pawn in their sick little game. As for me, I prefer to think I’m a witness.

I hope I’m not going to end up as a witness in an actual murder trial, though.

His right knee pressed against his boyfriend’s inner thigh, L runs a palm down his chest, his moves deliberately languid, a glint of sheer adoration in his eyes. But Light is not a piece of art; he is not made of marble and stone. Drenched in L’s overwhelming worshipping of him, body and soul, words and gestures, he has no choice but to unmask himself. He revels in the praise L conveys with his touch, closes his eyes. Is it the same self-conscious, stiff young man laying, bare and available against L’s body? It’s a magic trick, really. Something _mystical_. The young man opens his eyes, pupils wide with desire and it’s a miracle that the sight of him aching for his adoration doesn’t hinder L’s plan – although I couldn’t say what it consists of exactly. If I were to guess, I’d say L intends to drive his brat of a boyfriend mad.

“What are you waiting for?” the once composed young man whimpers. I discern a hint of anger in his tone. I’m certain L smirks at that – I can only see his shoulders tightening as his boyfriend’s hands latch on the nape of his neck, leaving red marks over the old, fading ones.

I hear L’s beautiful voice teasing: “They get hard so fast when they’re young." I love him a little more for that.

“I’ll kill you, _kill_ you," the younger man promises in-between moans. I think he gave up trying to keep his voice level. He’s gorgeous. I prefer him flushed and desperate, eyes ablaze with a desire so intense he is condemned to let himself go.

Light settles his hand on the back of L’s neck, forces him to look up.

“Do it or I will find a way to choke you."

I’m the only one blenching. L looks entirely too delighted at the perspective of dying by that brat’s hand.

Yet, L obliges. He lets out a small breath and reaches the junction where his thigh meets his pelvis. He licks into the crease lovingly, gluttonously as he would a French pastry. I focus on his partner – it’s fascinating how different he looks. His features are soft and divine as ever and yet, there is something strangely threatening in his behaviour. He clenches his jaw and I notice his fingers digging into the mattress – L must have done something right down below.

The last thread of Light’s self-control snaps when L takes him in his mouth and I lean forward on my chair, as I would at the cinema. Light tries to speak, one from two words in Japanese and makes a noise that resembles a name as he finally comes.

“You’re skilled with your mouth, I grant... you that much," Light manages.

He is laying half-naked on the bed; pleasure still glistening in his eyes and he thinks he has the upper-hand. That, or he chooses to latch on to that illusion. There is something very disturbing with him and his relation to power but I decide it’s not my problem.

L swallows and orders: “Kiss me." His voice low and intimidating, yet I detect a hint of despair in his tone.

Light’s lips curve into a triumphant, smug smile but his eyes hold a mixture of admiration and awe for a man he clearly loves.

I am witnessing a game nobody can understand. Their eyes ablaze as they gaze at one another in-between kisses, they make each other scream and beg and hurt in turn. It’s the first time in my life that I can’t decide if I’m watching rough, wild fucking or languorous love-making. Their voices mingle in a perfect, strange harmony.

“Sorry, Miss," L tells me in a breath. “I imagine this is not what you expected, but my friend here is almost too gay to function with a woman in the roo- aaah!”

He gets interrupted by Light’s tongue nipping his nipples. He’s sly, that boy, I grant him that much.

Light smiles. “Careless," is all he says before frantic noises rising from his throat prevent him from forming coherent sentences.

“But if you really want to join us," I hear between L’s moans – he has a beautiful voice, especially now, “I could convince him maybe.”

“You speak too much," his boyfriend sighs. He grabs L by the waist and heaves him over so he rolls on top of him. Between two heartbeats, L finds himself pressed between the bed and Light’s body.

That’s when Light remembers I exist.

“Give me the rope, Miss," he demands, straddling L’s hips. Light quickly bends his attentions to L again. I feel like a nurse attending to the surgeon.

I reluctantly hand the rope, hoping L will find a way to turn the situation to his advantage. I really want to see the smugness fade from Light’s face. It doesn’t happen. L surrenders to a force greater than his own, gladly, willingly. The brat’s face lights up, revealing the entrancing beauty of his features as the rope seems to slither on its own around L’s wrists.

I trusted L to get a grip on the situation but it seems he doesn’t _want_ to. I see his eyes widening as Light’s hand tightens around his throat. He lets Light kiss him, messily, passionately over and over again until his name is the only word that passes his lips.

There is a long moment filled only with their unbearable obsession for one another. Something changed in the room. They made the air stifling, poisonous.

I want to tread back to the kitchen and pour myself a cup of tea. I want to go home and watch a movie – I want anything but sex.

I certainly don’t look down upon BDSM, mind you.

It’s just…among the chaotic mess of feelings I read on Light’s face, I discern something disturbing. L does too, and he cherishes it; that nasty look in Light’s eyes. He has been waiting for it. He has awakened it.

Now, he is offering himself to it, some dislocated part of Light. My gaze crosses L’s for a second; I understand. He moans in Light’s mouth and I imagine him begging to be devoured alive.

I leave, swallowing against the bile rising up in my throat, and I feel almost guilty about it. . L’s voice is the last thing I hear. Muffled screams out of a dry throat.

* * *

 

**Mr Lawliet’s wrath**

The restaurant scene was a risky one. Mello admitted it: he made use of his talents as a writer to fill in the blanks. Yagami had evoked this memory years later with them. But time soothes memories and eases the wounds. Especially if said memories involve a dead person, as it was the case when Yagami confided in them.

* * *

_A page in L’s diary_

I dream of a monster, but feel I am the monstrous one for imagining it. In a sense, I give birth to the monster. He’s a part of me. I release him in my own mind.

Is the monster Kira ? Is it Light ? It’s the worst side of him. I’ve come to realise it’s a part of him I adore as much as the others. I don’t want it to disappear. Yet, I see him in my nightmares; lusting for power, devouring me alive, eyes ablaze with rage.

It’s a terrifying sight. I see beauty in it. But I’m afraid.

Does Light think of Kira? He doesn’t remember acting as him. Does he feel it deep down, in the back of his mind, as a lingering memory? Or is it a monster he hates and can’t relate to in any way?

“If I fear him, who love him, how must he fear himself who hates himself?”

We never discussed that. I was afraid; he was too weak. I dreaded I would lose him if I mentioned Kira again. I wanted Light. Every part of him. I wanted it so much I let him down.

* * *

 

The candle was burning down slowly, cruelly, along with the conversation. Light noticed that kind of detail. He tried to shush the anxiety away. There was anything wrong with their date. Was it still called a date? They had been lovers for two years now. A _rendez-vous_ sounded better. Or too intimate. Did it make any sense at all that the Greatest Detective on Earth shared a table with Kira? Light shifted in his seat, remembering L had passed on the crown – he was just Lawrence, or Louis, or Leigh now.

It occurred to him L was a mortal with a heartbeat that would slowly, inevitably decrease in tempo someday. The imaginary sight of L resting in his arms crossed Light’s mind and reached his body, a poison coursing through his veins, sending disturbing shots of adrenaline. A shiver trailed down his spine as Light desperately fixed his gaze on L, like he was a ghost and would disappear if he let his eyes flicker.

Silence had taken over for too long.

It was hard to pinpoint where things went wrong exactly. Perhaps it was the consequence of neglecting their issues for so long, pushing them away, hoping they will stay where they are. Real life doesn’t work that way. The past cannot be buried; it crawls back out of its grave, revengeful and unexpected. They should have seen this coming.

“We have to do something,” L stated. He would get cryptic at times, in an attempt to mask his uncertainty. His voice was terribly quiet, as someone in grief, almost too pained to utter the words.

L was the brave one, Light knew. If someone were to put an end to this, it would be him. Light looked up, mustering all the courage he had left. He couldn't just leave him with that burden. It wasn’t right.

"I am still trying to figure out why, but this relationship is agonizing. Isn't this time for a mercy kill?" Light said, keeping his voice level.

His affected calm was annoying to L. Especially now. "What are you getting at?"

"We should part ways. It's time," Light struggled not to make it sounds like a question. There was a time where he was so sure of everything that came out of his mouth. Seemed strangely foreign. Everything was just conjectures now.

L locked his eyes on him. “You know we can’t live on our own anymore.”

“You said we are made for each other and I don’t deny that…” Light tried to hold L’s insisting gaze. He felt it latching on to his skin, begging him to stay on L’s behalf. Light swallowed.

“…That doesn’t mean it works," he finished, his voice colder.

He expected L to agree.

But he didn’t. Instead, he placed his hand on Light’s. “We’ll make it work.”

Light glared at him like he was overstepping. L chose not to take the hint. He waited for Light to say something, his fingers dancing across the soft, warm skin of his lover.

“Don’t," Light hissed, removing his hand. He reached for his glass. It was already empty.

L took a deep breath. “What is wrong with you?”

“I am not having this conversation,” Light said. He craned his neck, glancing around the restaurant. Then, he looked down on his glass and curled his fingers around it.

“You’re nervous. Why are you nervous? Whatever is trying to kill us, we will find it and eliminate it, Light. We are not letting go of each other.”

L maintained a deadpan expression but his voice held a hint of torment, a singular anguish taking over his mind. A feeling common to avid readers - he foresaw the outcome of a story, but could only watch, powerless, yet unable to let go of the book he loved so.

“The truth is I don’t think I can redeem myself at your side. I don’t think I can ever live with myself with you. I want to. But I can’t”

Light blurted that out, eyes closed and voice modulated.

“I’m sorry," he had the nerve to add.

“You’re sorry," L echoed, his words carrying over the monotone buzz of voices in the restaurant. Light glanced around nervously.

 “You’re _SORRY_ ,” L said again, louder.

“Lawren –“

“Don’t call me that now. I am still L, to you. I am your enemy, your Nemesis, perhaps. But you still won’t trust me.”

Light rolled his eyes. “It’s not that at all”

“Don’t LIE TO ME! Am I even _human_ , to you? Was I ever more than an abstract concept you had power over? You slept with some irrelevant man, a bystander! You betrayed me, _you_ RUINED it all! And you have the nerve to leave me behind?! Now, of all times!”

“You said we weren’t a couple” Light protested.

“I was trying to comfort you, Yagami! I was trying to save – oh and you know what? Why do I bother? You’re a selfish, immature, borderline sadistic man. I never should have reached out for you. I should have listened to Watari and have you locked up in a cell! That’s what your own father wanted for you! And I didn’t listen, I stubbornly, stupidly insisted we’d give you a chance.”

Some clients craned their necks towards them. L didn’t care; Light felt each single look weighting on him.

“You act like you’re the best, but you destroy everything you lay your hands on, Light! And don’t give me that irritating ‘ _What are you talking about, L’_ look!” Even then, his rendition of Light’s voice was nearly perfect.

“All you’re truly good at is lying your way through the world. I wrote that in your files – it’s your coping mechanism. But what has the world done to you that you fear it so much? Nothing traumatizing ever happened to you. What kind of cowardly, _WEAK_ , individual needs to cope against something inoffensive?!”

Light wanted to answer, to explain, but his head was pounding and he could hardly distinguish the words L was throwing at him.

“You have no idea what to do to redeem yourself. But that’s not my fault, Light. It’s yours. You don’t know who you are and you don’t want to know," L went on, his voice slightly lower.

“I’ll tell you what you’re going to do without me – Because you’ll live. You may be weak, but you’re too proud, too scared to choose death. For yourself that is. For others, well, that’s another story.”

L leaned forward, his eyes locked on Light’s. “You’ll live a fake life, have a fake wife that you will probably end up hating, have fake children, maybe. And you won’t love them, because they will remind you of how _pathetic_ you truly are. One day, you’re going to wonder why you don’t feel accomplished and you’ll realise you have lived as a fraud your whole existence.”

“I’m not abandoning you," Light whispered, “I’m just leaving –“

“You want to leave me? Leave the only person who sees you as a whole?! The only person who can _understand_ you? Be my guest, Yagami!' L exploded, his voice dry from the screaming.

“You don’t understand! I’m not doing that – I’m not trying to find a way out. I want to stay!”

“Spare me your pathetic excuses. You’re doing this for yourself! You think you’re saving yourself! That’s all it is. It’s all about you! You don’t care about anyone else but you and you never will love anyone –“

Something snapped in Light’s mind. “Then explain me _why_ I love you, L!”

They stared at each other, until Light’s eyes widened from the realisation.

It was as if he couldn’t believe his own words because he blenched and stood up. He held silent for a second; and opened his mouth. Nothing came out of it. L stayed still, his eyes locked on Light, certain he was going to apologise, sit and beg him to forget what he just said.

Light didn’t. He looked around; became painfully aware of the dozen of eyes fixed on him. A shiver trailed down his spine and he looked like he was about to faint.

L got on his feet. “Light…” he trailed off. He reached out for his lover, slowly, gently, as you would approach a fearful animal.

Light eyed him as if he were another stranger; his expression was one of utter panic.

“Sit down, please," L tried.

There was a second where Light looked down at the chair, at the table, until he crossed his own reflection in the window, and all these judging, frowning, unknown faces.

He darted towards the door.

L followed him outside but all he could do was watch Light escape from him.

‘You PROMISED, Light! We were to change the world, together!”

The cold wind wiped his words away. Light didn’t look back.

L let the freezing rain stab him, over and over again, until it felt real.

 

* * *

 

There was something touching in Mello’s insistence to quote Yagami directly instead of paraphrasing him. It had nothing to do with Light himself; Mello was merely respecting L’s wish – he would have wanted the truth to triumph over Yagami’s endless lies. Light never became a truly honest man; yet, at the end of his life, the words he traced on his diary were sincere at last.

_His arrogance made him irritable. As a lover, he was excessive. He would push me over the edge and relish the panic roiling from my limbs. He was the only one able to move me. He loved me as a whole – that’s why I ran away the first time. I dreaded to reach out for his hand, that day. I regretted it. There was something in me I feared; a force greater than my sanity, a part of me that wanted to make him beg for mercy and pay for unraveling me._

_I should have taken that risk. Better to hurt him than live without him. We lost so much time; each second I should have spent with him left a nagging, inflamed mark on me._

_I could hardly bear his absence – that brilliant, incredible man had become a part of me. Probably the only part of me I never abnegated._

Light Yagami nearly drowned without L; that much was true. Still, he managed to live in-between desperate gasps for air. It lasted some years. First, he returned to Japan, faced his family and celebrated his 24th birthday.

Then, ennui found him again. He refused to yield to that nasty, devastating feeling of emptiness. He had to devote himself to something; not the police, it was impossible now. Sayu would honour their father’s legacy.

As for him…Light Yagami’s name had to be made spotless again. He turned to politics as some delve into drugs; out of despair, hoping to find something better and exciting. In his heart, the need to believe in something; in his hands, an unmatched talent for (self)-deception.

He had to succeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone in this fandom should panic a bit at the idea of Light getting into politics but he'll stop at mayor. Not Prime Minister. Promise.


	4. London and Tokyo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally. You get L in his salmon bathrobe. You know, that fanart. Yes. I put it at the end of the chapter (couldn't resist), it's by lux-mea-lex on tumblr. Say hello!  
> Also, they're getting back together eventually, but it's THEM. It has to be at least pseudo tragic. It happens in the next chapter, stay tuned. For now have a lot of tension.

 

 The third chapter was a favourite amidst L enthusiasts as it had confirmed a popular theory: Deneuve, Coil and L were the same person. Near had insisted they divulge the truth and Mello had yielded – he owed Near that much.

 2014 was the year of Lawrence Deneuve, L’s media-friendly, eccentric alias. At the time, Mello devoted a significant amount of time defending his mentor on the internet. He had never been working so little which in way, helped him overcome his nagging inferiority complex. He became internet famous; praised by Deneuve’s gigantic fanbase.

Meanwhile, Light Yagami fake-smiled his way through politics with a success so spectacular TIME had crowned him Person of the Year. Yagami had expressed his gratefulness but his colleagues and rivals claimed he wouldn’t exit the political stage until he was worthy of Forbes’ chart of the most powerful. Who claimed guilt dries out ambition?

On Light Yagami, Near had very strong opinions. He affirmed Light owed his popularity to his good-looks in spite of his fanbase’s claim that his ideas were revolutionary. Luckily, Near’s writing was objective enough to mask his scornful tone and the Life and Time didn’t lose any credibility in the public eye. “ _As Maupassant’s Bel-Ami or any of those opportunist male protagonists the 19 th European Literature is populated with, Light Yagami scorned women while behaving like the most archetypal seductress_”.

Tokyo unsuspectingly put faith in Kira to be its new mayor, while London praised a young detective nobody knew anything about.

Lawrence Deneuve said he was French, but no one in France could confirm his claims. L excelled in playing out his own eccentricity – a fool will easily get his way with people. Lawrence, however, wasn’t just another role. It was a part of him he had estranged somewhere in his mind. It was starving, and it was to be expected from a starving creature to be a bit excessive in the satisfaction of its desires.

 Ever gluttonous, Deneuve had given interviews for dozens of different magazines around the world. Choices had to be made by the authors of the Life and Time. They had picked two interviews – the first one was Near’s personal favourite, mainly because of Yagami’s live comments on it he had miraculously retrieved.

 Light Yagami never had time to drink coffee with his colleagues at the city council and claimed he would never get addicted to anything other than a healthy lifestyle, but he’d snap at anyone who had the nerve to interrupt him during Deneuve’s live interviews.

 “Eccentrics are an endless source of wonder,” Light explained, with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

 At any rate, that Deneuve character intrigued the city council. A colleague of Yagami’s was adamant that he had whispered: “Now he calls himself Deneuve. What is he playing at? A new personality every two years? He’s not David Bowie, for fuck’s sake”, the first time Deneuve gave an interview.

* * *

 

**Partial transcription of the 2013 London interview**

Lawrence Deneuve sat in his chair as if it were a throne. Rare masterpieces; odd, lifelike, sculptures and vaguely religious paintings filled his London flat. He received journalists in his cabinet, a room that resembled the cabinet of curiosities 20th century aristocrats exposed wonders from across the world in. Lawrence had brought a modern twist to that old concept and displayed not only art pieces but an impressive collection of newspaper articles. Most of them were written in Japanese and all focused on the same person.

Old habits die hard. He hadn’t stopped eating cake either but would mix it with a bit of white power postmodern poets call snow.

 His sin was gluttony. He was attracted to anything remotely wicked. It was miraculous L hadn’t yielded to cocaine before Watari’s death. His mentor was a pivotal piece in his universe – the white knight he would call in the midst of a nightmare. With him gone…whose help could he expect? _Kira’s_?

Deneuve had opened his door to the journalist. The man stared, taken back by the thin figure wrapped in a salmon-pink bathrobe.

 “I expected you’d come later…or not at all. You know, promises are empty shells we stuff with our own wishes,” Deneuve said cryptically. “Anyway…since you’re here I suppose you should come in”

Deneuve wore his aloofness as an armor. L masked his nervousness beneath it. He talked slowly, in a low voice, so as to highlight the complexity of his words. Many misjudged that trick for a demonstration of Deneuve’s inherent disdain for anyone he deemed an idiot.

 In Japan, Light Yagami felt strongly about such hasty conclusions:

 “He’s bluffing. Can’t you see? He built himself a character, some avant-garde intellectual but it’s an empty shell. Take his bathrobe, for instance. It’s not a political statement, he’s not telling you ‘we are so much more than our appearances!’ Not at all. He just doesn’t know where to shop for clothes. He never goes out, that fellow, it’s obvious. He only has to stuff himself in this horrendous bathrobe and here it goes. Oh but trust me, he never leaves his home but I’m fairly certain he has a housekeeper."

 In a way, he was defending the L he knew against his Deneuve persona.

 Deneuve had a quite a lot of theories concerning his choice of clothes : "Truth be told, detective work doesn’t require clothes. If you’re talented, you can even work from home. I could have given this interview naked, you know ? It would have been really unsettling.  Well, I digress. Today, I’ve opted for a light salmon bathrobe because, just like them, I often swim upstream. It’s a metaphor, of course.”

Yagami commented on Deneuve’s accent for the first time (but he reiterated about 18 times during the 20 minutes the interview lasted). According to Yagami, that accent was forced in an attempt to seduce foreign audiences. His colleagues nodded enthusiastically and exchanged concerned looks once Yagami turned his head back to the screen.

“Some claim you have been L before quitting a few years ago. Are such rumours unfounded?” the journalist asked. Deneuve grimaced, and sighed.

“Do you believe this because of the L printed on my mug?” he queried, brandishing the object before the camera.

“I admire L, as any sensible person should, but he’s a pretentious jerk. Worse than me. He isolates himself while I have the courage to confront them. There is nothing worse than hypocrites, trust me. They get drunk with the sound of their own voice, yet are incapable of listening to others. It’s terrifying. As for me, I don’t listen to anyone – not even myself! Wait, let me talk before opening your mouth. I see you’ve brought a little notebook. You’ve written down plenty of questions you’re dying to ask me. I can only think fondly of you. You want to be in control of your interview. If I can give you a piece of advice, just one – don’t plan everything. It’s not healthy. One of my lovers couldn’t stop making lists. I’m fairly certain he recorded his sexual performances in an Excel chart.”

Deneuve slid a hand in his disheveled hair. It was long enough to be pushed back from his face now but L refused to (And yet, Mello had been adamant. ‘Of course, if Yagami had expressed the same desire, you’d have given up already’ he had muttered vainly)

In Japan, Deneuve’s monologue racked Light Yagami’s pristine façade. He found himself rolling his eyes, sighing and blushing in turn. “One of my lovers?” he echoed after Deneuve, “What is he talking about? He never had anyone else.” He spoke an octave too high. A handful of glances were exchanged but no one dared say anything.

Deneuve was particularly vocal on his hidden talents. On the books he claimed never having published out of modesty, he said: “These are…writings of the twilight. What I mean by that is that I wrote them at sun dawn. In the literal and figurative sense. Understand it as you will…”

The journalist lifted an eyebrow in disbelief. In a desperate attempt to save his interview, he glanced about. His eyes fell on a bunny.

“Is that your pet?” the man asked, hoping Deneuve would say something at least vaguely comprehensible.

“Oh, yes. It’s my bunny.” He folded down and cupped his hands around the animal, hefting it onto his lap.

“It’s called Kira” Deneuve had spitted the words at the camera, a strange lilt in his voice. "It's afraid of everything”

In Japan, Light Yagami folded his arms on his chest and darted his eyes defiantly at L’s pet.

If L knew how difficult his own life was, he wouldn’t bully him like that.

Light systemically woke up in the middle of the night – a rendezvous he never missed, to form sentences on paper he dared not think about the morning after. The letters he sent were addressed to L, not Deneuve. (L would answer, sometimes, but he left no hint that he had read Light’s previous letter. They were mostly talking to themselves, trying to hear the other’s voice echoing back to them)

Light rarely ever slept but he didn’t mind, like the dead don’t fear the cold, his body didn’t mind privation. Between two important meetings, he would lay on his bed and willingly, gladly, forget to think. He’d fall into a state of unconsciousness, trying to recreate that place he shared only with L, that haunted, ephemeral, blissful beacon.

He could never figure it out on his own. He only ever got the usual headache and ignored the familiar sentiment of boredom gripping on his mind.

 

* * *

 

**An encrypted message on Light’s laptop**

_Why did I leave him, Why did I leave him, Why did I leave him, Why did I leave him_

More importantly, how long has it been? I last saw him at a funeral. But it doesn’t count, funerals are a truce.  
We weren’t ourselves, in Paris. It wouldn’t have happened otherwise.  
And Berlin…it faded away, but left so many marks.  
We were the only ones who could ruin us. I take pride and comfort in that. Still…  
Everything is so BORING. Repetitive. Tedious. _Empty_.  
I hate politics, it’s always pushing me down on my knees.  
Blindfolding me. I miss our investigations, especially his eyes when he’d understand everything at once  
His voice would quiver. I finished his sentences for him.  
I hate Tokyo. I still can’t set foot in my childhood home. They want me to, but I can’t. I meet them all at once, somewhere else. Once, I broke a glass because my hands just wouldn’t stop  trembling.  
This city makes rust out of my goodwill.

 

(Of course, it was all _Tokyo’s_ fault if he spent nights playing Deneuve’s interviews over and over again)

 Their paths were tethered to Tokyo. Todaï and the tennis court and the tower building, Kira and L, all of it was waiting for them in Tokyo. Everything was connected to Tokyo.

* * *

 

 

  **The 2014 Tokyo Debate**

There had been an upheaval in the Japanese media landscape. Sakura TV had lost its last shred of credibility with the sudden disappearance of the God it had helped promoting. In a desperate attempt to keep the audience figures steady, it turned blind love for a new God to violent hatred toward a lying deity. Kira was the two-faced, deceiving trickster who played humanity for a fool; the villain, in the narrative Sakura TV sought to establish as truth. Sadly, too many souls needed to believe in that story and went with Sakura TV’s monster hunt for the human who dared give them hope.

Upon listening to L’s final message, most people judged him weak and unfit to help capture Kira. L claimed Kira had disappeared but still addressed someone in his message – they read forgiveness and affection and sincerity oozing from beneath his words. L and Kira held hands over the ordinary suffering of the lesser, like two rulers ending a war with a treaty of peace in a smoke-filled room. Quietly and far enough not to hear the whimpers, cries and curses of the survivors.  Bring both Kira and L in a conversation and see that dismissive hand gesture and the words, spitted out: “Traitors, cowards…sinners, both of them.”

To L, it highlighted the complexities of the human nature. There was an unspoken, widespread rule; only a monster can destroy another monster. L and Kira had been deities for a short moment, but in truth, they were monsters. Humans put faith in monsters like they believe in deities, supernatural forces and superstitions. It’s the key to the survival of their species.

Now they wanted the monsters gone.

Sakura TV fed on that trend. Yet, it wasn’t as monsters that L and Light were bound to meet again, but as adversaries. As Deneuve, L had played the Devil’s advocate while Light, as Tokyo’s mayor kneeled before the Kira’s victims memorial. As ironies went, this one was powerful. A debate between those two figures was inevitable.

They touched for the first time in three years – funerals truly were a truce where only souls meet. It was one hell of a hand shake. Curt, sensual, full of restrained violence. Neutrality, they realized, would always be an illusion. And any part of their bodies, when touched by the other’s hand, was an intimate place.

The TV host stared. It had lasted a second too long for a regular handshake.

Mello, Near and Matt watched the entire live debate from their new headquarters. Silence descended whenever Deneuve talked. They were often silent; Deneuve threw words, sharp and quick as flowing knives. Yagami dodged them with a cold, cold smile.

(“L looks tense, doesn’t he?” Mello queried. Nate narrowed his eyes, pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. “He does,” he answered, his voice low, “But I’ll have you remember what he told us the last time we visited him: _I don’t need anyone to protect me_ ”)

“That Kira character was surely human. That’s the conclusion I drew from L’s words. You know, the first L. It’s obvious there has been some kind of shift. Anyway, Kira now lives with what he has done. I think it’s enough of a punishment," Deneuve drawled, casting sidelong glances at Yagami.

“He’s a criminal, and should be judged,” Yagami countered. There was an unusual hint of sincerity in his voice.

“There are rumours that you are Kira, Mister Mayor," Deneuve teased.  “Would you like to be judged by your peers?”

Light twitched. “I am most certainly not Kira.”

“They say you have the intellect. But you’re right. Kira could stand up to L, couldn’t he? Or her – I’m not sexist”

“That’s not the question, Mister Deneuve.” Light was all cold elegance. “I could perfectly tackle L. You, on the other hand, aren’t a proper detective.”

Deneuve let out a clear, short laugh. “You wouldn’t be here if you had L’s level. Wouldn’t you be some high-ranked police officer? On your way to Interpol? That said…you studied Law and your classmates all remember you wanting to become a detective. What led you astray? I wonder.”

“Just like the sudden disappearance of top Todaï student Hideki Ryûga, it’s a fascinating, yet irrelevant matter,” Light snapped.

There were walls of memories, unspoken or regretted words surrounding them. They, as humans, Light and L, blood-smeared hands against ripped flesh, they were built around these walls and they were each other’s walls. Smothering, comforting walls. A prison or a shelter.

Even L’s successors couldn’t perceive everything they were really telling each other. L and Light never needed to speak to communicate.

During the break, Light found himself in front of the dressing room they attributed to L. He blinked twice, hesitated, and pushed the door open. It wasn’t locked. He deduced that L was waiting for someone and that ‘someone’ could only be him.

Bent over a coffee table, L sensed his presence. “Light Yagami. Is that a dream? And alone too. How did you muster up the courage?” he said, not looking up from what he was doing. His voice held a note of gloom that was absent when he spoke as Deneuve. L juggled the masks with ease.

“I wrote to you,” Light countered.

“And I answered. But it’s not quite the same as having you here.” Then, L sniffed and Light’s eyes darted at him.

“Tell me it’s not cocaine,” Light demanded, striding to the leather couch L was sat in.

“I can’t lie to my pretty prince,” L jumped to his feet. “Sorry.”

Light shook his head. “I can’t believe these nasty rumours were true.”

“Really? I had nothing left. And with you away, I had to find a stimulant.”

L was hovering around him, lithe and edgy. Light felt his gaze lingering on him.

“So that’s all I was, to you? A stimulant?” He heard himself ask.

“I don’t mean it as an offense, Light. You were my adrenaline kick.”

“Well, you were more than that, to me.”

He wanted to tell L of all the sleepless nights but as usual, the words remained locked up in his mind with the many other inexorable, inevitable realities he couldn’t deny nor confide.

“Are you crawling back to me? Is your new life so boring that you miss your controlling, demanding, paranoid old detective?” L ceased his pacing and stood perfectly still in front of Light. “I’m 35 you know. I’ll be dead, soon.”

“Stop that,” Light intimated. “And why would I want you back if you don’t want me?”

“That’s right. You’re heterosexual now anyway, right?”

Light’s throat closed even as his lips parted. Nothing came out of his mouth. Vainly, he tried to bring any of his sexual partners to mind. He couldn’t remember a specific face, or body, or feeling.

Words flew out of L’s mouth. “And you fancy yourself a respectable man too. Are you trying to be your father, Light? I wish I could forget about you. But I can’t. You’re a persistent, permanent resident in my mind.”

Light felt his knees growing weak but his lips curled up in a cold, thin smile. “How could you forget the one criminal who almost killed you?”

“You’re more than that, to me,” L countered, mimicking Light’s lilt of voice. Then, before Light could react: “Aren’t you tired of fighting?”

L crossed the space between them. Light felt his warm breath against his skin. “We could use a truce, Light. Something worth remembering.”

Light’s collar was being unbuttoned. Light sensed the sharpness of L’s fingers skimming his neckline and realised his love life had been a wasteland without him. He was the only one his body responded to. Light immersed himself in pleasure. He closed his eyes. Who was he kidding? His whole existence was a wasteland without L in it. And here’s the tragedy: it was nobody’s fault but his. Not being understood had been a source of pride for too long.

He felt a hand trailing across his hips. He blinked at L, presently kneeling before him.

“You don’t mean –“

“We have time for this,” L smiled maliciously. “Relax.”

And then. Then, something snapped in Light’s mind. The sight of L on his knees horrified him. It is expected from a tormented, egocentric creature, to dread any sign of surrender from his lover. Because L loved him wholly, he felt entitled to summon the wicked facets of Light whenever he pleased – in Paris, it did wonders, to both of them.

But L had changed, his grip wasn’t as firm before, and he had kneeled too soon.

He couldn’t push him away. He had to made L realise this was a terrible mistake. Light threaded his fingers through L’s hair. Forced himself to get a grip.

“L. You were my idol, once. Did you know that?” he panted. “I used to admire you, perhaps more so than my own father. But what you’re doing is pathetic”

Light saw the truth behind his own words. Something he hated, a cruel, cowardly, crude facet of him was peeling down barriers in his mind.

L pulled himself up. “Pardon?”

“I apologise,” Light lied, lips curled up in a wolfish smile. “I made you that way.”

Inevitably, L slapped him. A stab of pleasure made Light’s back arch, he bit his lip. It hurt and he wanted it again, and again, and again.

Words flew from L’s mouth, biting and sharp and quick. _Only I can set him off like this_ , Light thought, jubilant.

“You haven’t done anything to me. I’ve always been like this. Yes, Light Yagami – you didn’t make a difference. You didn’t leave your mark on me. Give it a few years, and you will never even have existed.”

Miraculously, he dodged one of L’s kicks and got the upper hand. Terrified to lose against L, Light pinned him on the floor, his grip as tight as humanly possible.

Still, L remained stronger than him. He ought to be careful; it was foolish to confuse L’s apparent weakness with surrender. He could be playing with him.

Light brought these wise thoughts to mind, forcefully, as he felt L’s body stiffening beneath him. He played them over and over in his mind. L’s body was heating up under his fingertips. Light yielded. He kidded himself that it was the only way he could win that argument – it wasn’t. He could have jerked back to his feet and walked out the door. He could have escaped L with a feigned dignity – He could have played out the Paris scene again, to his advantage.

Instead, slowly with a palm of his right hand, he brushed L’s inner thigh, positioning himself between his long, thin legs.

“Look at me and tell me you will remember Kira but not me,” Light intimated, his voice slightly quivering.

Silence. L was averting Light’s gaze. Interestingly enough, he didn’t protest as Light’s hand worked its way into his jeans.

L found his voice. “I will always remember Kira.”

“My name, L! Say it!”

Breathlessly, L obliged.

Light finally drew a gasp of pleasure from L. He smiled at the feat and celebrated by shoving L’s legs apart. L’s back muscles contracted, his pulse raced – Light pushed himself down to feel everything. He left a trail of bites and kisses along L’s inner thigh. L inhaled a sharp, long, deep breath. Light was delighted until he felt his own body react to every noise L made.

He pulled himself up to face L again. They had to hurry – good manners be damned.

It was as if L saw right through him: “Go ahead, and do it!” he urged. Somehow, Light was achingly reminded he had an English accent and a magnificent voice.

It brought back memories of Paris.

( _As always when they melt together into one being, an impossible swell of pleasure seizes Light’s body and soul and sanity. He cannot determine if he feels madder or saner._

_Light Yagami! Say my name!_

_Why won’t you tell me their names, Kira?_

_He is filling L with him and hopes it stings like a burn_.)

Chasing away the importuning thoughts, Light slid his fingers into L’s mouth. L eagerly brushed them with his tongue. Then he bit them. Light didn’t mind the pain but took it as a slight. He shot L a nasty, poisonous look. _Depending on his reaction, it could derail,_ Light thought, a familiar fear coursing through his veins.

His grip tightened on L’s wrists where a rope once slithered in a series of intricate loops and twists. Part of him wanted to slam L’s thin body against the floor, more violently with each thrust; until L’s mind would be engulfed in a haze so thick, the only word left for him to scream, whimper and implore would be Light.

Yet...he also desperately wanted to _please_ L. They weren’t in Paris anymore. He hesitated.

L folded slightly forward.

A beat. Light darted his eyes at L. And then, L kissed Light. A sound that resembled a sob or a cry for help passed Light’s lips. He was supposed to be the victor here, but he sounded so terribly needy.

L was still teaching him lessons – notably that he wasn’t the only empty thing in the room. L was anchored deep inside Light in a way that was mystical if not physical.

Light felt himself being pulled closer. It was passionate and loving and soothing. L’s hipbones were sharp like razors and his nails dug into his back – L was marking him as his own which meant he’d always be there and that the time they spent separated didn’t matter at all. L was a shelter, perhaps not a chalet but a beacon on the shore, where you could still hear the ocean washing against the cliffs. It’s only a shelter if it keeps you aware of the danger after all. The second you forget why you needed a shelter in the first place, you find yourself leaving it. Losing it. Abandoning it.

L’s embrace was inviting, forgiving. At this point, Light didn’t care about anything else than L. To his lust-hazed mind, L snaps of the hips were the last sensible truth in the universe. His favourite place in time.

“I can’t do this to you,” Light murmured. What he meant was simple; taking L on the floor would be a punishment, and he didn’t want to give in to that. Not now.

L snaked away from Light and pulled himself up. He offered his hand to Light. Their fingers intertwined.

“I apologise,” Light said in a breath. He looked down and smoothed his shirt nervously. He felt dizzy. L was the only figure he saw clearly through the haze.

Light opened his jaw to say something else but he felt his body drawn to L’s. L was pulling him snug against his shoulder. He wrapped his arms protectively around Light.

“It’s over. You didn’t hurt me. Light, you didn’t yield.”

Light muffled a sob against L’s neck.  “I shouldn’t have encouraged you,” L whispered, fingers fondling Light’s hair. “I should have known better”

“I’m 28, L. Don’t you think it’s time I learn to control myself?”

“I don’t think age has anything to do with it, dear Light”

L’s fingers traced intricate patterns on his back. Nothing quieted Light better.

Once, in one of his letters, L had threatened him. “If you find happiness without me, you’ll pay for it” It didn’t frighten Light. If anything, it touched him. It was an empty threat – he was simply urging him to come back home.

They both had nasty, wicked places within, but L regularly bathed them in a blinding, divulging light. It hurt, it stung, and there were times he forgot the good pieces of him.

Light locked his monsters up in his own mind, a trap only an arrogant or a masochist could fall into. It was a cowardly, lazy way out, about as honourable as taking a nap to avoid a confrontation.

Amusingly enough, L wrote in his diary that Light “was especially needy and demanding that day – authoritative in his longing for me, and me only”

On the other hand, Light referred to this encounter as “the day the Greatest Detective admitted he belonged to me”

Both their phrasings were highly hypocritical, obnoxious tones masking the half-truths beneath the words. In a sense, it was painfully true that they owned each other.

The rest of the debate played out smoothly – or rather, as sharply as expected. A detailed study of the audience’s response to the faceoff showed interesting results. 90% of the surveyed people found it impossible to determine 1) who won the debate 2) whether Deneuve and Yagami had fooled around or tried to kill each other backstage.

They sure were good actors.

 

* * *

 

**A few words (excerpt from a letter written by L)**

Do you hear them, talking about you and me?  
You have to understand. It’s not you against me. You don’t belong in my list of enemies.  
It’s you, and I, against the world. It saddens me. Do you want the world as your enemy?  
We can change that together. Prove them wrong. Work for the greater good.  
I see you smile _. The greater good_ , you echo. You think I’m teasing.  
Just because I think of me as a monster doesn’t mean I don’t have grand hopes for the future.  
So yes, darling, the greater good. We will find what it is, in time.

 

* * *

 

**Funeral (2012)**

 

An original artistic choice had been to slide Watari’s funeral at the end of the chapter in spite of the chronology.

In his diary, Light described the sound of the rain battering against the windows of his car as ‘melancholic and elegant’. Upon reading it, Near had commented on the subtlety of his lingering adoration of L. The man was anchored so deep inside Light that he saw him in the rain lashing down the grieving crowd. That is what love really meant for Light, feeling L within him, as an indispensable part of his being. That sentiment was so overpowering, it could distort reality. It was powerful but uplifting. At any rate, it was very different from the delusion he used to poison his mind with.

It wasn’t raining that day, it was _snowing_. Light only saw rain because he associated the melancholy of it with the state of L’s heart.

 Light slithered between the statuesque figures gathered on the front steps of the Wammy’s chapel. Mello immediately sensed him approach. Yagami smelled of lavender, rosewater or perhaps it was cologne. It didn’t matter, he smelled like a herbarium, a flower shop all the while behaving like the Emperor of Japan. To Mello, it highlighted how despicable Yagami was. Sadly, it was precisely that princely aspect of Light that was irresistible to L. 

 Light glanced about. Chapels and graveyards upset him. He felt a surge of malaise working its way down his stomach. L had been fascinated by the idea of Death. It had come to slap him in the face. Death never ever remained an _idea_.

 L’s body stiffened, sensing Light’s familiar presence. He motioned his successors to leave them alone. Mello placed a comforting hand on L's shoulder and glared at Yagami. Chances were high Yagami didn't notice it.  He reluctantly left L's side and caught up with Near who, in spite of his limping, was already walking up to the chapel. 

 “Yagami. You here, of all places.”  

 L averted Light’s glance by looking up at the sky. It was dense with heavy, hopeless clouds. Light closed his eyes, breathed.

 “I’m not letting you down.”

 “Really?” L snapped, his rueful gaze turning bitter “Am I supposed to just _believe_ you?”

 Guilt branded Yagami’s cheeks. “It’s not what I wanted for us,” he muttered. “But it’s my doing. I know that. I want to make it right”

 “You’ve come too late,” L retorted. “And you’re too weak”

 Sorrow crossed Yagami’s face but it faded before L could see it.

“You’re letting your emotions get the best of you –“

“I know what I’m saying. I’m telling you – don’t come back. You’ll be just _fine_. I’m setting you free. And if you kill anyone, I’ll take responsibility for it.”

Even in the midst of sorrow, L could be terribly intimidating.

“I don’t want to be free” Light’s voice quivered. He struggled to regain his composure. L reminded Light he was something else than a creature of pure narcissism. He needed him or he would sabotage himself once again.

“Surely, a part of you wanted to escape,” L said, looking away from Light’s gaze. “Or it wouldn’t have happened”

“That doesn’t mean you have to yield. Don’t let me win.”

Silence. L locked his eyes on the man he loved, wicked or saintly, or a bit of both.

“I’m tired of fighting you,” he smiled. It was a half-smile, sincere and remorseful, and it sunk Light’s heart.

Two years later, they briefly fought, kissed passionately and shared a long embrace in the studios of Sakura TV.

Two years and three months later, Lawrence Deneuve vanished from the public sphere. L wrote letters from the Wammy’s (his own personal version of a rebab centre). Light read them many times, admiration blazing within him.

Two years and six months later, Lawrence “L” Lawliet rushed into a hospital in New York, drenched from the downpour, and swore he wouldn’t arrive too late at Light Yagami’s bedsit.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guessed it. Next chapter is New York. (no, none of them dies, promise)


	5. New York

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New York, of course, because they're made anew. Thank you for your support you all. The "one shot" is almost over. I must say it's a relief to finally finish something :) As always, comments are appreciated. Needed, even

**Internet comments about Light Yagami (March 2015)**

“Why did Yagami resign from office? I found his stance on global warming courageous. If you ask me, he should have run for prime minister. Oh and FYI, I don’t care if he was Kira. I just hope he comes back…Yagami, I mean *lol*” – MrsKira  
“I bet Deneuve was right. If he wasn’t Kira, it’s obvious he knew him. He ran away in shame.” – Karmageddon  
“Lmao at you quoting Deneuve the addict. ;) I have evidence Yagami was, in fact, L. He started investigating the Kira case posing as a student at Tokyo University. It’s outrageous morons associate him with Kira. Send me a PM for details. All hail L.” – Lwillprevail  
“You guys are thirsty for a scoop. Yagami was being blackmailed, is all. The guy was obviously in the closet…Sorry to break it to you! Kira was cooler than him anyway. Check my fanfictions ;)” – LxKira

* * *

 

There was nothing mystical about hitting a half-god with his car and Terrence Cobb filled the paperwork as easily as anyone else in his place. He did feel guilty, of course. He was the one driving too fast and that man on his bike, he only was at the wrong place at the wrong time, just like that day of November, eleven years ago, when he saw a notebook falling from the sky. Mr Cobb ignored everything about that last part, of course.

He stormed out of his car to the young man and yelled at the bug-eyed crowd flocking around them to call an ambulance. Then, Mr Cobb dared look into the eyes of the injured man.

At that point, Mr Cobb heard a faint “I don’t want to die” but could have sworn the young man’s lips hadn’t parted, not for a second.

“You won’t die,” he replied, cupping the victim’s head in his hands. God, he looked so young.

Mr Cobb had never been a devoted Christian. A prayer passed his lips without him realising. This world is godless now, his hazy mind remembered, and Kira only cared about the dead.

“I deserve it.” The young man latched on to his shirt, creasing the fabric.

Mr Cobb shook his head. “No one deserves to die.”

“Those who make the word rot deserve to die.” The young man whispered in a soft lilt of voice, “Don’t you think?“

Of course, Cobb brushed it off. The man was barely sentient. The possibility of death turns a mind upside down. Life sinks under the piercing look of the reaper.

The authors of the Life and Time referred to Light Yagami’s accident in New York as “the definite proof Karma is an illusory concept”.

Light Yagami could have died in 2015.

Instead, here is what happened: The Greatest Detective rose from the ashes and Kira was banished from the lives of both L and Light.

 

* * *

 

**The day of the accident – Wammy’s House.**

 

In the Life and Time, Mello recalled his mentor returning to the orphanage with fond words. They spent time together. Investigations had been put on hold until L got better. Near and Matt killed time their own way, while Mello dared introduce L to the wild, brilliant, ravishing young man he had become in his absence.

The library was vast enough to shelter the entirety of the orphans, still all heads were craned in the same direction. Lawrence Deneuve’s media escapades, of course, had been profusely discussed here. There were those who proclaimed L and Deneuve were one and those who rejected the idea mostly because Deneuve, a moody, eccentric addict, did not possess the elegance and prestige they attributed to L.

L would scan his surroundings at lengths, silent and intimidating as only he knew how to be. Nobody dared approach him; that was the plan. Seasons passed and L had adopted a new, shorter haircut which made him look like some retired vampire rock-star. His pallor had Mello worried sick, though.

“Are you sure you’re not just replacing an addiction with another?” he suggested, pointing an accusatory finger at the letter L was presently writing.

The fountain pen abruptly ceased to twirl and spin across the paper.

“I thought you didn’t believe in hand-written letters,” Mello said, his gaze dropping at the spidery handwriting, impossible to decipher.

“You’re so discreet. I didn’t hear you walking to me,"  L breathed. “Or perhaps I was too focused.”

L formed a letter that resembled a “Y” on the paper and looked up to Mello. He did that more often lately. It seemed L was finally observing Mello, not desperately trying to see someone else, to notice expressions that weren’t his etched on his face. Mello frowned, growled and offered L bright smiles that showed his teeth. Perhaps L had learnt to appreciate that too.

“You’re right, I did say that once,” L admitted. “Handwritings are terribly revealing. They betray a personality, a state of mind, a way of feeling. It feels a lot like whispering in a confessional.”

Mello frowned. “Except you’re not confessing to a man of the church.”

He sat down beside his mentor.

L glanced around. Orphans wandered in the library. Some might be following the same path every day, looking for the book they can substitute for a home. He knew that feeling well enough.

“I disappointed you,” he said flatly. A heart-stopping smile grew on his pale face. “L will never defeat Kira, you know that. We’re monsters. We fight, destroy and find absolution in one another.”

Mello sighed, in defiance of the admiration he harboured for L. “You’re more honest than that, usually.”

L shifted in his seat. “What do you mean?”

“I have no idea what Yagami’s problem is. But he is not a monster. If he was, wouldn’t that mean cruelty is in nature? He shouldn’t be punished for obeying the laws of nature. He created Kira and he is responsible for his crimes. You’ve never seen Kira, L. It’s an illusion. You’ve seen Yagami, acting on his sadistic impulses. Don’t hide behind some comforting fairytale. You’re not in love with a beast and a prince, you’re in love with Yagami, a fucked-up, terrible and somehow _lovable_ human being.”

Mello kept his voice level, leaving the quiescent atmosphere of the library undisturbed by his words. He had learnt to bridle his emotions. L admired that in him.

“You’re right. The truth is – I’m confused. The aftermath of the Kira case…now that I think of it, it’s all blurry and mingled, Berlin, Winchester, Paris…I can’t remember it clearly, like the beginning of a dream, when you have no idea why you’re the way you are, at this given spot. You’re just there…” His voice trailed off, his eyes narrowed. He was still trying to sort this out, all the memories. “I never thought I’d feel like this.”

“How did it all make you feel?” Mihael asked. He hoped L was sincere enough not to answer with _happy_ , or _accomplished_. Yagami could have killed him. Numerous times.

“Human," L said, with the same lilt of voice he had the day he confessed to be a monster to his potential successors. “I would be ungrateful to resent him for that, wouldn’t I?”

Mello jolted back to his feet. “Perhaps.”

He turned on the heels of his Dr Martens, sent L a feeble smile and declared:

“You’ve helped me, L. And I wish you’d let me call your name because it’s _you_ who helped me, not the Great Detective. I never felt so useful, acting as L. Isn’t this sad?”

Mello was certain, at this point, that he would love him even if he was only Mr Wammy’s mysterious nephew. He would love him as the irascible man he was. He could love him just like Yagami did.

They both sensed that.

Mello knew that whatever happened then would be short-lived, so he made sure nothing happened. He found it easy to resist temptation as he could foresee the ending. Being alone and being abandoned is different – loneliness, he could handle. But L would abandon him eventually. His nature, sadly, was similar to Yagami’s.

Mello followed him still, and it was rewarding to help him recover. He felt useful, loved, needed.

It didn’t last long.

 

* * *

 

**Impromptu hospital visits**

_I informed the nurse they’re wasting food on me. She stared with cow eyes. Had I insulted her, I would have read more compassion in her expression. “That’s the protocol, Sir.” A cold, cold voice in a place filled with half-dead people. “I don’t make the rules.” So, she’s a rule-follower just like “Light Yagami” had been. I hope she doesn’t ever bend a rule. It shatters your world._

Light's time at the hospital had been punctuated with three visitors – Soichirô Yagami, L and a spectre.

Only his father called to inform him he would come. Light Yagami took a deep breath and prepared himself to face the ever piercing eyes of his father. _Hopefully, it will dawn on him that his son doesn’t deserve a visit to the hospital when he sent so many people to the grave_ , he thought. He wished he could just make them obey, the nurse who was wasting food, and his father who was wasting time.

 

* * *

 

**Account on a nightmare (extract from Light’s diary)**

_I remember L murmuring in his sleep. Are brilliant minds burdened with equally crafty monsters in their minds? It seems I am still not used to nightmares swooping on me. The hospital nightmare was particularly cruel._

_My creature inhabits my mind. It’s not just Kira, I realise. It’s me. That’s the nightmare in itself. It’s hovering around me, lithe and dangerous. It mocks my tall posture, my manners. In the dream, there is a staircase that never ends. We’re standing at the top._

_“It’s time to stop fighting," the creature tells me. It looks exactly like me but I refuse to accept its humanity. It’s my downfall. It drops his gaze on L, these glowing, soiled eyes. I feel it in every recess of my being, even though it is not leering at me._

_L places a hand on the neck of my creature. It smiles a demon smile. The notion of them getting along racks me. I bit the inside of my cheek until I taste blood._

_My eyes won’t drift away from L’s back receding down the stairs. He vanishes. I’m still here, he’s still here, I’m being sacrificed but I don’t know why._

* * *

 

 

Frustration fed Light's mind with god awful thoughts. Hospitals are humiliating. They strip you off your skin.

The dream was sliding back to reality.

He blinked his eyes open at L. Slammed them shut immediately.

 “You’re awake.” L was staring, eyes haunted and wide. He studied Light in silent reverence, like that of a sorcerer for a deity he just summoned. It wasn’t one bit less intense than that. A sudden sense of vertigo stirred from Yagami’s stomach. His breathing increased to an overwhelming cadence as he desperately tried to latch on to reality. It was out of his reach.

“You’re awake, Light,” L said again, and he wrapped his arms around him. “Say it. I’m awake.”

Light wouldn’t answer, kept resisting L’s embrace instead. “Stop being afraid Light, and say it!” L demanded; he knew when to be firm. That was one of his redeeming qualities.

Light obeyed, but his voice was so shaky that L deemed it unsatisfying. “Say it. Louder," he ordered.

“I’m awake,” Light murmured. He hated the sound of his voice. “I’m awake,” he managed again. That sounded better.

He closed his eyes and let reality slip away again. Was that a dream?

* * *

 

Soichiro Yagami watched his son, who was presently dreaming in a trembling fever. The man tilted his head, debating whether or not he should wake him up. Mr Yagami never faced a similar situation before. As a boy, nightmares spared Light. Or perhaps he never screamed, never cried, so his parents never knew.

In spite of himself, his body stiffened as Light opened his eyes.

“You should not have come,” his son managed.

“What sort of father doesn’t visit his child at the hospital?”

Light pulled the white sheet tight about him. “You still consider yourself my father. Even when I’m –“

“This is an indisputable fact,” Soichirô said. “I will always be your father.”

“And I will always be Kira. I will never escape that. This… ruins everything. I thought – maybe it was Tokyo. So I ran.” He laughed: faint and hollow. “The day of my arrival in New York, I stumbled upon a conference. ‘Kira & L: how the murderer got his free pass’. I couldn’t even read the leaflet. I know they’re right. L let me live -”

Mr Yagami’s hand touched the wrist of his son. The gentle gesture silenced him. “Was it an accident?” Soichirô Yagami asked, “You getting hit by that car?”

Light did not give in to the temptation to lie. “That, I don’t know.”

Mr Yagami caught his son’s gaze from where it was wandering toward the drip. He confessed years later feeling an unmitigated guilt. That conversation, he realised, should have happened long ago.

“You can’t leave the world like this,” Soichirô Yagami uttered, his voice clipped but firm.

Light gave a demure smile. A memory swept across Mr Yagami’s face, violent and sudden as a gust of wind. A trick has been pulled at school and Light is the unlucky victim – it’s something ridiculous, a gum stuck in his hair or an unfortunate trip up. Light’s eyes mist up and he struggles to keep his voice level as he tells his parents. Soichirô must leave, the station called, so he simply places a hand on his son’s shoulder and tells him he should not cry over such trivialities.

He should not have said that. Nothing is trivial to Light. He cares too much.

This time, Mr Yagami listened.

 

* * *

 

L slid into the room one hour after. He shot Light one of his irresistible smiles – childishness distillated into wild charm. That powerful smile was L’s response to anxiety. Light knew that but he chose to appreciate it all the same. It had been too long.

L greeted Soichirô Yagami with a bow and dropped a handful of words in his ear. Mr Yagami nodded, stone-faced and imperturbable.

Light looked up to the two men discussing at his bedsit. For some reason, his mind refused to detach the words; only their voices remained, grave and familiar. A thought struck him that they were both here for him.

It made his stomach free-fall in shame. It had not faded away when his father left the room.

“How come you were not the first at the scene?” Light queried, turning to L.

L bit his thumb pensively.

“At the scene? You’re not dead.” Then, L realized how bland he sounded and said: “I have only a jet at my disposal. I never told you. I might as well use it to visit my ex-lover at the hospital.”

“You did tell me about the jet. Before Berlin. In Winchester.”

Light wasn’t certain of that but he wanted to recall the afternoons spent on the roof of the orphanage.  L saw through his lie but indulged him all the same. “It wasn’t perfect, even then, you know. I kept feeling guilty. That’s why I had us leave Winchester.”

 “I never resented you for that.”

“You should. I kept unleashing Kira upon you,” L said softly.  

Light never worded it like this in his mind. Kira was a part of him and he was only reclaiming the body that once was his. It wasn’t fair, to cast him away. This is why he replied: “I always let him come over me. It made me feel better, you know.”

L squeezed Light’s hand. “More powerful? I don’t doubt that –“

“Whole,” Light interrupted.

L studied the face of the one he loved not to comprehend. This time, however, he understood at once.

 “We shouldn’t have played with Kira, but forgetting him is unjust."

“So, what are we left with?”

L shifted his attention to the medical equipment around them. “We heal him,” he finally said, piercing eyes sliding back to Light.

Yagami always found L most attractive when he was angry. He changed his mind that day, claimed it was a side-effect of the medicine he had been “poisoned” with.

* * *

 

**A call to Sayu Yagami**

_“You know I have forgiven you. I just need to hear it from your mouth – the explanation.”_

_“I saw monsters everywhere because I was terrified of becoming one. He saw redemption in every criminal because in his eyes, L was a redeemed monster. I could only conceptualize the universe as an inherently beautiful place that needed saving. He shared this prejudice with me, but was honest about it.”_

_“Do you believe L would have followed the same path as you, in your place?”_

_“No. But how many criminals did his mad love for Justice awaken? How many killed for L? Did I kill for him, in a sense? In the name of a Justice I, too, felt fit to embody? After all, there was a man nobody could reach every police force in the world obeyed to. I envied that power. Lind L. Tailor died because of us. He is the one victim we share.”_

_Silence. “I’m proud of you. Working with L is the right choice.”_

_“Be proud of yourself, Sayu. You will replace Dad someday. It’s more than I will ever accomplish.”_

_“About that, Light…” A beat._

_“Yes?”_

_“Did you know L visited Dad a few months ago? He knows.”_

_Silence took over._

 

* * *

 

**The story of how L was reborn.**

L abandoned the Wammy’s House, endless meadows of an anemic green, for the city with neurotic enthusiasm in the air. They would never belong in New York, it would never belong to them either. They were quite resigned about it. Home was not a place on Earth anyhow.

Light Yagami stayed two weeks in the hospital. His father returned to Japan with a set of words in mind. “Kira will always exist. There is a part of me that has perished and I need to fill in the blanks in my memory. I tried to serve the world but it won’t work. You can’t change anything without the means to do it. Power is wasted in my hands. There is only one role I can act.”

In practically no time, Yagami succeeded in getting rid of a career he had chosen out of spite, a fiancée the media knew more about than him and a name he had dishonoured for too long.

In 2015, Light Yagami became L again.

L and Light played humanity like a fiddle, once. Feeding it hope and promises and threats. In times of despair, the authors of the Life and Times wrote, humans turn to monsters – superior beings, invested with unearthly minds and a thirst for power. To be human, for them, meant getting rid of that glory. It was time.

The new L they formed never spoke. It was a mute, invisible, force that coursed the fabric of the universe. L, as the world knew it, disappeared. Some tears were shed, in certain circles, but that was it. Contrary to their expectations, the world deemed them dispensable. The universe went on its unfathomable way, guided by chance or by destiny, as per the current trends.

L and Light realised that they had always been on their own – in Tokyo, London or Paris, because deep down, the other remained an enemy, a threat, Kira or the Greatest Detective.

Now that these monsters were dead, they could find solace in their own humanity. They just had to tune in to each other’s minds.

Oh, that took time. How to be human was perhaps the greatest challenge of all.

X

Room 404, with its pearly white curtains soon became intolerable. To Yagami, sleeping in a hotel room couldn’t be a choice. L agreed. He had lived in hotel rooms for too long and never warmed up to them.

“Remind me why we can’t get out of there,” Yagami said, fixing his eyes on L’s reflection in the mirror. The weeks he spent at the hospital had taken its toll on his face. Presently, he was arguably less attractive than L. It was hard to admit. He always was the most attractive of the pair, if not the sanest. That was a consolation prize he couldn’t renounce.

“Mello, Near and…perhaps Matt are supposed to come,” L stated. He flopped down on the couch. “In a minute or so.”

“They’re announcing themselves now,” Yagami said. “They couldn’t think of that, back in Berlin?”

“They didn’t come uninvited exactly. They broke in, don’t you remember?”

“Oh, yes. Silly me, how could I forget the Wammy’s personal take on the notion of politeness?”

“Don’t be bitter. It didn’t ruin the night at all, if you recall.”

“Of course I recall. I almost killed you that night.” The words fell out of Light's mouth before he could filter them.

“I am partly responsible for this.”

“Like I care. You would have died. Gone forever, just because Kira doesn’t know what a safeword is.”

L bit his lip at the remark, perhaps realising the utter absurdity such a death would have represented. They had been betrayed by their own brilliance. It had isolated them from the world, draped them in praises from strangers and illusory assurance. In the end, they were lonely beings, prone to addictions, arrogance veiling Light’s mania and L’s venom.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” L said, unable to mask his unease.

The night Light was referring to had not been narrated in The Life and Time. As bad memories went, that one was so dreadful neither L nor Light had given a clear account on the event. From the few scattered words Mello gathered, L had managed to awaken the worst side of Light.

L had the tendency to face the truth, let it scorch and mark him so he would never forget it. But he dared not mention that night, not even in his diaries.

Mello had listed his hypothesis as to why:

_-          The belief he had failed Light (preposterous, if you ask me. Yagami’s sadistic streak is his responsibility, not L’s)_

_-          The realisation Kira was a pivotal part of Light. The mask inhabited him, filled him so profusely it became an identity. (Possible. L might have latched on to the belief the morbid, unearthly weapon had corrupted Light and created Kira. It is false, L couldn’t deny it after Light yielded to his shameful desires.)_

 

At that point, they had stopped talking anyway. Light had joined L on the couch, whispering: “we don’t have to talk at all.”

L leaned back on the couch, hooked a leg around Light’s waist. “You could have died,” Light breathed against L’s skin. The lilt of his voice held a note of morbid excitement he hated but couldn’t quite swallow.

L shifted into a more comfortable position and soon his fingers were tracing arabesques across Light’s back. “But I didn’t. I will always outlive your dirty tricks,” he promised Light. “Count on me, little prince.”

“I’m almost 30, you can’t call me that!” Light protested. A beat. He seemed to space out for a second. “It’s been 12 years. How did this happen?” he whispered, looking at L expectantly.

L gripped his collar and pulled him down on him in response. In truth, he had no real answer to offer Light. He kissed him passionately only to buy some time.

Then, the doorbell rang its silvery melody and the kiss had to break.

L grabbed Light by the hand and darted at the door, hauling him along with him as he used to when they were handcuffed. The door slid open, and they faced L’s successors.

Mello shot a nasty look at Light, then turned to L. “I see you were expecting us,” he said bitterly.

“You said you had something to announce us,” Near reminded, discomfort absent from his voice, “So we’re here to hear it.” He clasped his fingers around the arm of his wheelchair.

L shoved at Light’s shoulder. “Tell them.”

Light’s little smirk melted. “It’s not what we planned –“

“Tell them, Yagami, damn it!” L snapped.

“Alright.” He took a deep breath, fixed his gaze on the modern sculpture standing behind Mello. “We have decided to act as L once again. The two of us.”

Mello was taken aback. “You’re _firing_ us? Is that the conclusion I’m supposed to draw from Yagami’s vague explanation?” He only addressed L.

“You were never my employees. You helped me heal the name L, the role I felt I had failed,” L explained, his voice low. “I came to realise it is our responsibility to restore its image. Not yours.”

“We are the ones who soiled it in the first place,” Light added.

“Ah, you two don’t often get along, but when you do – when you finally do, it’s _memorable_ ,” Mello seethed, eyes flashing with anger. Near and Matt nodded in agreement.

“It’s for the best. You two, and even Matt, you can do so many other things,” L said, setting a hand over Mello’s shoulder. “You are skilled, talented and once you accept that, you can be free, brighter. I promise you.”

“L is right. It’s not your destiny. And I mean it, rationally, it’s not where you’re supposed to be standing.” Light folded his arms. “It’s mathematics, really. You needed to be three, two and a half, to attain L’s level,” he added. Near sighed in exasperation and forked his finger through his slicked back hair.

Mello stabbed an accusatory finger into Light’s chest. “Yes, we had to be three! Because we were left with the burden of restoring faith in L after you ALMOST KILLED HIM!”

“Don’t listen to Yagami. This is only the beginning for you three,” L intervened, shooting a reprobating look at his lover. “Mello…Mihael, that role could have ruined you. I know you worked hard and fought against envy, jealously, anger. The role of L infected you with those. Escape them now. You have the chance to become anything.”

“You know what? We’re done,” Near said. “It’s not that we do not _want_ you two to be L. It’s _how_ you do it. I have to agree with you on that: it’s for the best. Truly. You deserve each other.”

L’s stomach clenched at that. It was the tone of Near’s voice, empty and resigned.

Mello left the room in anger. Near and Matt followed.

X

 

“I hope nobody is too much into politics here.” Yagami’s eyes flitted from the counter to the tables.

“No one here remembers what the former mayor of Tokyo looks like,” L promised. “You don’t look like a politician without the suits and the bodyguards.”

“I can’t believe you.” The words slid out of his mouth. They remained unanswered. L was elbowing his way to a distant table and not paying attention to him anymore.

The place was dark with flickering neon lights and it rang with the sound of conversations. Yagami stole pieces of them; everyone sounded enthusiastic. He counted about fifty people. He could have killed just as many criminals in one night, once. He lifted his head up, took a deep breath. His eyelids twitched – that blinding, cruel light. Who was responsible for the lightening here? He could exchange a word or two with them.

Yagami shook his head, fighting both his tendency to delude himself and the overpowering fear that was slowly seizing him.

L glanced over his shoulder behind him – Light stood, immobile and terrified amidst a crowd he couldn’t look from above. “Follow me,” L ordered.

On this ephemeral but pivotal event, L had written an entire page in a diary.

_Light paralyzed in a crowd – This image brought back memories:_

_Todaï. It was a different Light then. Could he handle a crowd only when it admired him in silent awe and whispered praises? It was a case of troubled eyesight. From above, a crowd was an enthusiastic audience. From within, it turned into a hostile mass. Society was always homogenous and foreign to him._

_Berlin. Light used to act in a similar way when we went out, and he drank to stop obsessing. I thought it counted as punishing Kira, so I refused to reassure him. I let Light melt in Kira, and I usually brought ravenous Kira, revengeful Kira home with me. I was, in a way, punishing myself in the process._

_Back to New York. I was looking at him expectantly, but he refused to see me. I say refused, because I know he could. I wasn’t invisible, I simply could not exist at this point in time for he was being Kira, and Kira, a castaway now, only lived for revenge. So Light wouldn’t look at me so I remained a blind-spot, a familiar silhouette in the dark. It was touching of him._

Crowds were responsible for rising Kira above the surface. Now it was sinking Light down. L reached out for his hand. “Nobody knows, he said, referring to everything Light had been and longed to forget – the politician, the criminal, the sadist.

Light followed him at last, but he didn’t took L’s hand. He strode to the table and let out a deep breath as he sat down.

“I have no idea what just happened,” he admitted, his voice withholding the slightest hint of nervousness.

L studied him silently for a few seconds. Then, “It will get better.”

“To the brand new L.” Light smiled, and lifted his glass. L mirrored his gesture.

The noise around them allowed them not to hear their own silence. It was still unpleasant to Light. He plucked up enough courage to ask L the question that stung his lips since he called Sayu. “Did you really tell my father –“

Light admired the dawning of L’s fondest smile. He maintained a deadpan expression.

“Oh, Light. You will be 30. There comes a time even the closet wants you out.”

If there was something he could pin down on L, it was crudeness.  

 

X

 

In the streets of New York City, Mr D’Agostino, paparazzo extraordinaire, saw Kira and L parading hand in hand. That is, indeed, the truth behind the scene he witnessed.

Now, truth seldom matters to reality. In this man’s world, Kira had been vanquished and L had been mourning for his dead enemy ever since, replaced by a more discreet version of him.

D’Agostino didn’t see Kira and L. It was better. He felt it; that familiar bloom of adrenaline - he got himself a scoop. The prodigy that ran, Light Yagami. And his manicured hand, clasped in Lawrence Deneuve’s. They were so close, their shoulders touched.

The flash of the camera blinded them. Deneuve let out a mouthful of insults, D’Agostino darted in the direction opposed to them, camera clutched to his chest. Then there was a sound that made his heart gallop in his chest – “ _Stop this fucking bastard, now!”_   The voice sounded lethal. D’Agostino was accustomed to hear it modulated and pleasant.

It rattled him.

With a supple lunge, Deneuve tackled the shocked paparazzo. Heads craned in their direction, but Yagami motioned them to look elsewhere with a delicate, yet firm gesture of the hand. There was no trace of violence in his expression. He gave off an air of pure disdain, a veneer that always fitted him well.

“Leave me be, Deneuve,” D’Agostino croaked as the detective pinned him down against a wall.

All the paparazzo obtained as a response was a terrible stab of pain. Deneuve’s bony hand landed on his cheek, then on his chest. “Stop, I’ll give it –“ the paparazzo panted in-between thumps. “Who do you think, you are?” Deneuve whispered. He said it again, and again, as a mantra. “ _Tell me, who do you think you are?”_

“You’re a monster –“ D’Agostino managed. That stayed Deneuve’s hand.

Breathless and hazy, D’Agostino caught sight of Yagami, standing still beside Deneuve. He observed the scene, quiet and curious. He resembled nothing so much as an emperor surveying gladiators at the arena.

His look lingered on the paparazzo – Yagami had not touched him, but he felt an impossible, unbearable humiliation.

Yagami prowled closer to him. D’Agostino tried to wriggle away but Deneuve was still grabbing him by the collar.

“You can release him now. He won’t go anywhere,” Yagami told Deneuve. He turned to the paparazzo, his expression veiled. “Will you?”

D’Agostino’s eyes flitted right and left. Deneuve was quick and lithe, and God knows what Yagami was capable of. He nodded.

“Good.” Yagami slid a handkerchief out of his pocket. It smelled of lavender. “I’m not someone you can fool so easily. Please don’t lie to me. You were taking pictures of us, and I want them back.” He said, rubbing the blood off D’Agostino’s face. He never sounded this threatening, in Japan, even in the face of slender. _This isn’t an oversight on his part_ , D’Agostino understood, _he means to frighten me_. A shiver trailed down his spine. Yagami’s low-key violence, half-veiled by the elegance of his words, was terrifying.

 “I have done nothing wrong,” The paparazzo countered. “Tell your _friend_ , Deneuve!”

D’Agostino’s eyes darted at Deneuve. Here he stood, dark and impassible in his trench coat. He had always been charismatic, but presently, his presence had been amped up to a hundred.

“Why would I help you? The world is a dangerous, vicious little place,” Deneuve drawled. “Imbeciles like you are the reason why.”

“Give the camera to me, Sir.” Yagami had the look of a predator in his eyes. His voice was calm by contrast. The performance was flawless – or was this finally curtain call, was he facing the person Yagami had concealed beneath a persona? “Give me your camera, now,” he insisted.

The paparazzo obeyed.

 “If the world is rotten, you are too,” he told them when Deneuve gave him his emptied camera back.

“We all are, to a degree,” Yagami replied. “Goodnight, Sir.”

X

Matt entered the projection room at 3AM to find Mello watching Lawrence Deneuve’s New York interview – his last bow. He watched his beloved mentor crack a smile whilst he mentioned his partner and a hand finally clasped in his (“It was a rocky road. Terrifying adventure, really. But he finally accepted the help I offered. I’m better with him. Yes it’s a he, no it’s not Kira. Stop mentioning that name to me. Let Kira die his slow death. Forget him.”).

Mello called L that night. “You do that. Clear L’s name. Make him powerful. It’s your responsibility.”

Silence descended. Mello focused on the soothing cadence of L’s breath and overlooked any background noise. Of course, Yagami was at L’s side. His head rested on L’s thigh so he could press a kiss on L’s pale skin in-between two computer break-ins. Where else would Yagami be? They only had each other, good intentions, bad memories, and a bond so intense it was almost visible, like in a myth. There was an imperceptible thread slithering around their bodies, tethering them for eternity. Well, except if the notebook of death comes with a curse. Then, Yagami would end up someplace else, far away from L.

Could have L thought of that already? A shiver shook Mello’s body. He chased away the perspective of an afterlife separated from L.

“What are you going to do?” L asked quietly.

The response passed his lips naturally. “Write. I have a story to tell.”

X

From that year on, L and Light lived in a world of their own. Reality began to lose substance. It never wanted them and they never fitted in this limited, cruel realm. They were monsters constricted by the human world. So, they crafted a universe for themselves and filled it with riddles, challenges, infinite enigmas. That world could last forever. Time could revolve around them.

Light Yagami and Lawrence Deneuve were soiled names. In the case of Yagami, it was alarming. He had wrapped his real name in an intricate lie. At least, Deneuve was only one of the names L stole. He could discard it.

Lawrence Deneuve only offered occasional interviews for his die-hard fans in his New York apartment. The sight of an elegant silhouette in one of the videos rattled the Deneuve fanbase. The person was barely visible yet definitely masculine. Yagami admitted to be living with a man in 2018 to the surprise of virtually no one on Earth. Some clever minds connected the dots and it became public knowledge that prodigious detective Deneuve had seduced the unapproachable former mayor of Tokyo. Of course, an impressive number of people claimed to have guessed it from day one. The Tokyo Debate hit the 2 million views on Youtube while the Time proclaimed: “L is back!” They resolved 87 cases that year.

Kira was being forgotten. Light found solace. L would use Light’s name, sometimes. He had a strange respect for tradition after all. “I defeated you,” he told Light once “I should take your name. It’s time.” It sounded strangely romantic.

“That’s one thing I could say to 11 year old me," Light replied, “I finally became L.”

Some people aren’t made to live on their own. This applied to Yagami in a disturbingly literal way.


	6. Roma Aeterna and Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. The one-shot is over. OVER. I am sort of relieved, to be honest. It's always pleasant to achieve a story. I will be quick: thank you for your incredible, unwavering, comforting support (Lex, Dana, Monica, Abi, Justicewithstrawberries especially). Spirits know I need it. You were incredible and the comments about the characterization were particularly touching. TLAT, I'll admit, is the canon I live in as far as Lawlight is concerned. It's everything I ever wanted for them, everything I could see actually happening. I am touched beyond words that I was able to share that. 
> 
> Now, if you ever want to discuss the story with me or anything really, drop by [tumblr](http://capitaineblackbird.tumblr.com). I'd be excited to answer you. I also link you to [the playlist](https://8tracks.com/cptblackbird/voyage) I created for this story, if you're interested. (for this chapter, The Future Never Dies is perfect)
> 
> I see you soon. 
> 
> PS: Don't mind the rules of the Death Note, I haven't checked because I don't really...care...Really. It's probably not possible, but **it's not important to me.**

**In a small, black notebook.**

Front page, scribbled in a corner: “It does look like the Death Note. Better laugh it off. It’s been a while since you spend a night writing names. L."

  _Page 12:_

“I thought of a title for our autobiography. From Hell to Eden. I read Paradise Lost again. It got to me, you know? PS: it’s easier to communicate that way, have you noticed? You’re nicer. Light.”  
”You told me about Paradise Lost. Not the autobiography. Who would read that? Unless you pull a Watson and write my stories. You did say I give off an air of Jeremy Brett’s refined gloominess. Whatever that means. L.”  
“Maybe I should write after all. If you die, it’s a better occupation than killing myself right away. Light.”  
“I know you. Sadly, and in spite of your best efforts, you wouldn’t do it justice. Now let’s get back to work. L.”

* * *

 

 **2020**  
ROME  
Sayu Yagami’s mission

 

The narrator changed his voice for the last chapter, professional neutrality turning sour, sad, and rueful. It wasn’t only Mello’s doing.

In New York, Light Yagami’s priorities had shifted. The Mayor of Tokyo had been superficial in his fights for fear of being associated with the passionate, fiery, god Kira had been elevated to. And Kira was devoted to himself and the salvation of the perfect son Light had killed along with another man, that night of November.

They were cynics acting the part of the idealist.

The new Light Yagami cared for the environment, owned a white flat with bay windows and declined all interviews. He wore shirts of exquisite silk and his old familiar watch. The nights he couldn’t sleep, he threaded carefully across his balcony, unafraid to get lost in thoughts. After a few debates on the subject, he let his lover hold his hand at the restaurant for 5.7 minutes. His smiles were shy and his charm unaltered.

He was a cynic who mended his ways.

As for Lawrence Deneuve, he cultivated a new found love for wolfberries and yoga. He provided his fans with one smoothie recipe per month that he posted on his blog. “The Greatest Detective” (strawberry, honey, vanilla) was especially popular, although mainly discussed as a potential hint to Deneuve’s double-life.

“L is an entity that is always in motion, ever-changing. L is never quite the same. Perhaps I have been him. But I will remain silent. Telling you would be a betrayal of L,” he had confessed once, in a blog post that had been shared by millions. Since then, it was the opinion of the public that he had been the original L. Of course, it triggered a renewed interest in the legend of the first L. The Lind L. Tailor intervention ascended into a classic. It was easy to live in the nostalgia of the self-righteous, arrogant vigilante L had been.

Light and L crafted a different act for the play; a detective that never spoke, proficient and quiet in his fights. They repaired Watari’s invention, healed the flawed hero they both looked up to. They didn’t change the world, but they changed L for good.

By contrast, the humans they became were childish, eccentric, far, far ahead of the curve. Their strange companionship made them proud. They were fully, unapologetically human now, in their own way. Then again, there is no faulty way to be human.

For his 34th birthday, Light Yagami received a villa in Rome. It stood up above the city, on a hill of vivid greens and reds. The elegant scent of jasmine and bluebells filled the vast, bright rooms. The windows were high, the floors polished, and a magnificent garden grew on its roof. Its odour was so rich, it has such a beautiful presence, L would often persuade Light to make love up there because it felt like adoring him in the very lost garden of Eden.

Sayu Yagami didn’t know that the first time she set her eyes on the roses her brother grew.

“How can we ever thank you?” she told L, brushing careful fingertips over a petal.

L fell onto the couch. It was surrounded by high, reassuring plants. “I really don’t deserve it. Trust me.”

“Your misdeeds matter little to me,” Sayu responded firmly. She took a step towards the detective. “I might be a bad cop, but all that counts right now is that you saved my brother.”

“I am not a saviour I merely helped him find his way, Miss,” L countered, and he regarded her with the same respect he had once paid her father. “You’re certainly not a bad cop. I have the first hand opinion of your father on the subject. He is proud of you. I’m proud of you. I can only imagine how terribly difficult it must have been.”

She considered his words for moment, her expression rueful. “Isn’t my brother…doesn’t he resent me? I’m afraid he thinks I stole his place,” she said, her voice low like someone who is grieving.

“Sayu Yagami. Your brother is exactly where he was meant to be. It was always supposed to end like this.”

“We should have seen him stray away,” she argued, flopping down onto the couch beside L. “Prevented it, in some way. I thought that was what family is for. All we could do is trust him – and…I’ve forgiven him, don’t get me wrong. But I will never understand.”

“He has me to understand. Don’t underestimate your role. He needs to know I’m not the only one who can love him. Have you noticed how the Japanese newspapers barely acknowledge his existence now? Not a word on him in the past two years. Do you know why? He wanted this. He wanted to disappear.”

“Why?”

“He is reinventing himself. That’s what he always does. I follow him, I’m the constant. But you, your family, are the compass. He will always look in your direction, whether we’re investigating in New York or tracking criminals in Singapour. He sees you in the horizon,” he said fondly. Sayu Yagami smiled in gratitude.

“Thank you. I can see why he needed someone like you.”

Her eyes wandered toward Lawliet’s hand and her smile faded. He had slipped a black notebook out of his bag.

“I know your father told you about this,” he explained. “I need you to take it. Destroy it, bury it. The decision is yours. I promised your father. He knew you’d do the right thing.”

After hesitating, she gave a little nod. “Why not destroy it yourself?” she asked, eyes riveted on the unearthly weapon.

“I’m not suited for this mission,” L answered, his voice low and firm.

She flipped through the pages, recognized the elegant handwriting at once. Light’s hand seldom shivered and the names had been traced with impeccable care. She suppressed a shiver.

“Lind L Tailor,” she read, observing the unfamiliar capital letters. Light had been the first person to help her write, as a kid. He was adamant she respected the correct lines. Apparently, Lind L. Tailor had been worth breaking a rule. It was strange, to see that name, unfolded all over the page. She looked up to L, who gave a little smile.

“The name that changed everything. I haven’t looked at it in a while now. How different it could have all played out.”

“From that moment on, L was his enemy. A threat. Someone who knew too much about him,” Sayu blurted out. She considered her words and realised how true they sounded. “He would have worked with you otherwise, you know. It could have ended the same way,” she ventured, eyes dipping to the notebook again. She flipped another page.

“Would I have loved him then? I know I would, but is that simply wishful thinking? He doesn’t need Kira. He never did. But me…I am haunted by that doubt. That, maybe, I loved the monster he created more than I could ever love him.”

He slipped off the couch, threaded to the balustrade and stood there. “We were never equals in this respect. He admired L but he was always more fascinated by the man behind the mask.” L clasped his hands behind his back, swallowed.

“My voice, my impossibly long limbs, the cadence of my breath. He notices everything. He loves my temper, delights in my obsessions, and understands my weaknesses. L wasn’t a person to him.” It was true that Light Yagami’s first instinct had been to rip off L’s mask, to detect the tormented detective in Ryûzaki’s quirks. By contrast, L had wanted Light Yagami to act like Kira. To yield to this deformed part of him so L could win the game.

“He loves me, only me,” L recalled. His eyes flicked in memory to pieces of conversations, whispered words and confessions filled with tears. Only then did Sayu notice how exhausted he looked.  “My trust was gained that way. And he’s, to this day, the only person alive to call me by my name.” Yagami has this way of saying his name, softly, carefully, as if it was the most dangerous thing in the world. Never would he say _L_ that way. He harboured a form of resentment towards L – the former enemy and the persona that shielded Lawrence from him.

“I hate self-pity. So I thought of a way to prove my devotion to Light Yagami. Once and for all,” he said calmly, and finally looked at her. “Miss, if there’s something you need to keep in mind, it’s that actions speak louder than words…” He heaved a deep breath, waited for Sayu Yagami to turn the last page of the notebook.

What she saw was a name. The spidery handwriting reminded her of old-fashion letters; it was not meant to be deciphered by anyone else than the addressee.

“Whose name is that…?” she ventured, blinking at the page.

L hovered around the couch, placed himself behind her. “Someone who wanted to die and I indulged. It's possible all users are condemned to the same place, if there is such thing as an afterlife, that is. Don't believe it wasn't a dilemma, to use that terrible weapon. But I needed to.”

“You’re the same, you and him. Always resorting to such terrible means…” Sayu craned her head to look at L defiantly. “It doesn’t mean you’ll be with him. The notebook says there’s only nothingness.”

“Even so, I am not risking it,” L retorted. He padded to a chair by the roses and sat there, pale above his black collar. “I can’t lie. He weighed on me. And I know I won’t be able to stay beside him forever.”

“I will die, one day. I’m not afraid of death. Light is. I want to ease the pain, I want our parting to be bitter and sweet as a medicine. That gesture is supposed to give him hope. I will have to give him back to himself, carefully, the same way I would confide him a precious collection of china. I hope he doesn’t break it. Perhaps if he is assured we’ll meet again somewhere, he will not.”

Sayu never saw Lawliet alone after that, but their eyes would often lock in silent understanding.

Her brother was not for her to understand. He was hers to forgive. By the time Sayu Yagami was contacted by the anonymous authors of the Life and Time, she had made peace with that idea.

She let them unveil Kira. Light was dead, she could protect herself from the crowd. And she knew a least one part of her brother would agree. It was a suitable punishment for Kira, to be judged by those he frightened. Worse: to be presented as a human. A fragile, soft-skinned, fearful human.

 

* * *

 

**2033  
ROME**

**The sound of the bells**

_In the fairytales, the monsters never live happy ever after._

_But we had freed ourselves from the monsters’ skins! We were humans, and we were getting good at it!_

_I never yearned for life to turn into a fairytale. ...Well, I did. But never as intensely, never as desperately as on that rooftop._

Light Yagami’s diary.

* * *

 

In April, L called for a pause in their investigation. He soothed Light’s objections with a romantic evening in a deserted museum. Castel Sant’Angelo, to indulge their megalomania. They played the kings in their castle for a moment, admiring the works of art and the paintings of angels hand in hand.

At some point, they parted ways; Light followed an invisible thread to the Hall of Justice. The disturbing aura of the room seeped into him, and a sigh escaped his lips. For a fleeting instant, he felt every suffering soul that had been condemned to death, imaginary sobs or screams echoed off the white marble. Yagami had a passion for self-inflicted suffering, as another man for praises and compliments. He was peculiar in that both men were him.

The illusion faded. His heart was pounding madly in his chest. He needed to find L. His walking, light as ever, took him to the rooftop.

“What are you doing here? I was looking for you –“ Light cut himself off, struck by the beautiful picture he faced then.

The most brilliant man in the world stood, slender and fragile, immobile above Rome. In spite of the late hour, the city was still whispering to itself. L’s eyes skimmed the sky with an unusual softness. They loved Rome – what’s not to love about a city that’s eternal? But L looked like he was saying goodbye already.

Light took a careful step his way. “Come inside,” he urged, feeling strangely anxious. “It will rain soon.”

“So be it,” L said sotto voce. He seemed to address the statue of the angel Michael perched above them.

“Don’t say that,” Light retorted feebly. He never knew how to sound comforting. Charm and manipulation had been easier to master. The irony of that fact soured his mood.

“This building was the tallest in Rome, once. It was surpassed. Does that make it any less of a masterpiece? I don’t think so.”

“What are you getting at?” Light managed, and he realised how sore his throat was.

“You can succeed me. I always thought so,” L said half to himself. Then he turned to Light at last. Observed him with as much intensity as he him. They both knew what kind of catastrophe edged closer to them, but they needed the words to give reality to the storm. “I’m sick, little prince. And it’s serious.”

A heavy cloud slid in the sky, allowing the moonlight to play with their shadows. Their silhouettes danced against the ancient stones. The view horrified Light. None of this was eternal, the music would fade away, and the dance would end. It was unfair. So unfair, he might cry.

He welcomed L’s embrace and wondered why he was the one in need of consolation. He wasn’t the one facing death, and yet it felt like he was getting his execution at long last.

“I hope there is nothing after death,” Light murmured, voice strangled. “It’s better to be forgotten than forced to live these dull, boring, separated existences again.”  

“I will be there with you. I did what I had to do.” L said, sounding steadier than he was.

Light understood. “You used it.” In defiance of his morals, he let out a jagged sigh of relief. Silence set out again. This was one of these moments where words could only exist unspoken.

After a moment, Light’s muteness frayed into heartache, impossible sorrow. His hands creased the fabric of L’s shirt and he buried his head in his neck. Sensing Light’s warm tears on his skin, L responded by tracing slow patterns across his lover’s back. This time, it could never quiet him. L never knew, but all Light Yagami could focus on was the grim moan of distant bells.

 

* * *

 

 _We were scattered all over the world, but we regrouped as soon as we learnt our mentor was about to die. All our adult lives in a safe environment, we had never known true, heart-stopping fear until then.  
_ **Near, in the last chapter of the _Life and Times_**

* * *

 

 **2035**  
FRANCE  
His last bow

It opened with this image. A little crowd flocked at the doors of a French clinic. Its unity is an illusion. In truth, it was composed of human beings in multitude – journalists, curious strangers, bloggers still devoted to L or Kira’s cause. All these people carried their devastating curiosity with them, along with a camera.

On November 3rd at 4pm, three figures quietly pushed their way through the crowd. In spite of their efforts, that didn’t go unnoticed. Fingers were soon pointed at them. The crowd dissolved into frantic buzzing and chorused questions were thrown at the strangers. For too long, these people had awaited a scoop. They didn’t bother to ask the names of the newly arrived.

L’s successors had considerably changed, too. Matt had found it fit to cultivate his growing resemblance to Tyler Durden in Fight Club – faux-rebelliousness, a vague scent of cold coffee and a dubious habit of wearing mismatched suits. Kurt Cobain was reborn in Mello; sad blue eyes and a taste for poetry to match. He was rather handsome too, save for his doubtful beginnings of a beard. Near denied his hair loss by pushing it back. Stephen Gevanni was seen in high top secret NASA buildings pushing the detective turned scientist across the corridors. If gangs of angels existed and if they had a leader, he’d look like 40 year old Nate River. 

Beneath the appearances, L’s successors remained the same.

“Put the cameras back, none of us is hiding Yagami under their cape,” growled Mello. He stared, eyes piercing through the crowd. Silence fell. He didn’t need to yell anymore.

Near craned his head and tugged at Gevanni’s sleeve. The ex-FBI agent understood. He halted his walking, and consequently Near’s wheelchair.

“Chances are high he will take the backdoor. There,” Near told the crowd, pointing with his sunshade.

He pushed his glasses back up his nose, the better to gloat, smiling like a victorious poker player at the end of the game.

Matt wished he could add something, so as to convey the feeling of a united trio but nothing sharp enough came to mind. Owning a couple of successful businesses didn’t make a leader out of him. He held the door for Near and Gevanni.

 

* * *

 

**Excerpt of the Life and Times (manuscript)**

_You know how we cope with death? We rename it. Death is a journey or a beginning, a dull ache, an enemy. Something relatable._

_Yagami never even alluded to L’s death. His funeral speech could have been his wedding vows. He addressed L the whole time, and promised to spend the rest of his days at his side._

_He kept his promise._

_I’d come to see him sometimes. He would tell me L was "absent" with a sweet smile. I stared the first time. After a while, I realised it was his way of coping._

_Denial. We should have seen that coming._

 

* * *

 

“A few days, they gave me. I told them I wanted to go home,” their mentor said. He looked paler than his hospital gown, but Yagami surpassed them both. It is a frequent and tragic occurrence: the one at the bedsit seems more frightened, horrified and sick than the dying, loved one.

“You talked to the doctors? You should have told me. I can take care of everything,” Yagami said. The words fell heavily. He sat straight in his chair and he was perfectly well-dressed, but something in his eyes was dead already. Mello wished he hadn’t noticed it.

L extended his hand. “Light. My Light.”

They shared a silence filled with unsaid words. Then, L simply turned to his successors.

“Come closer. I need to talk while I still can.”

Yagami rolled his eyes at the remark and shifted nervously in his chair as Mello, Matt and Near joined him at L’s bedsit. He thought of them as thieves, stealing the little time he had left with L.

L let his eyes roam over them all, sighed, and with a sad little smile said: “L’s successors and L’s reflections. What a broken, mad family we form.”

Near maintained a deadpan expression, Matt and Mello exchanged a conniving glance. L was latching on to a comforting illusion; yet another sign death was closing in. His mind resisted death, and death poisoned his mind in retaliation.

“You will always have each other,” L went on. He sounded far younger than his age.

Yagami bristled. “All we have is ourselves, L.”  It was clear he didn’t intend to pay L’s successors any attention. He was too distracted by L, pallid and so bizarrely resigned in his hospital bed. Yagami’s eyes never drifted away from him, lest he disappeared without his consent.

L squeezed Light’s hand, looking silently at him for a moment. His expression was indecipherable, even for Yagami.

Mello coughed, pointedly ignored Yagami’s cold glance. “Do you want us to come back later?” he asked softly.

L eyed him then, and the extreme sharpness of his cheekbones struck Mello. “No. Not before I told you this.”

He paused. “I’m proud of all of you. I’ve always been proud. I hope someday you three find it in your heart to believe me.”

“We believe you –“

“Mello, you always were too hasty to reassure me. Let me confess some of my mistakes. I haven’t been there for you. I was forced upon you as a guiding light, a model, a goal. It shouldn’t have played out like this. But you were brilliant. You never let me have the upper hand even when I made use of my power. I thank you for that.”

He paused, breathed, and gathered the effort it cost him to speak.

“For years I hid my humanity from myself. I was a genius and a force to be reckoned with. I was a monster. I tell you this, because I’m sure you don’t know this: it’s you three who gave me the courage to act, and live as a human being. I find you truly exceptional, special and not less human.” L allowed himself a pained sigh. “I ask your forgiveness for…everything I wasn’t and should have been to you.”

Mello said a few words he didn’t understand himself. Nate swallowed hard and stared at the window, cursing his sudden weakness. Matt felt terrible for all the times he thought L mistook his silences for passivity.

“Light. I’m so sorry I couldn’t keep our promise,” L said fondly. “I can’t lie. It will be lonely. It already is, isn’t it? You know that I’ll be waiting, wherever I’m going, I’ll be waiting. If you don’t come to me, I’ll find you. Do you hear me, Light? Say something.” He motioned Matt to fetch him a piece of paper and a pen. “Write to me, if you don’t talk,” L offered, handing the pen before Light.

“I can’t do this,” Yagami finally managed. His voice was still cold, so cold it made it obvious he fought not to be taken by despair. L placed a hand upon his shoulder, and Yagami seemed to freeze under his touch. “Don’t do this!” he snapped, throwing the comforting hand away.

Mello edged closer to quiet him but renounced upon meeting his eyes.

“This is impossible,” Yagami said, shutting down his eyes, as he often did when reality proved itself to be unpleasant. “You should have…There should have been something you could do.”

“I should have stopped the disease, Light. Is that what you’re trying to say?” L snapped. “Is that what I’m supposed to read beneath your egoistical tears? That it’s my fault?”

Light stared intensely, like he was desperately trying to attach L to the living world. “I meant – You always find a way.”

“That’s not my fault I’m going to die soon! That’s life. If anything, you drained me out.”

Finally, a look of sorrow crossed Light Yagami’s face. Blinking back tears, he caught L’s hand and dropped his gaze to their intertwined fingers. L’s were ghastly, bony, feeble. Their skins had never been so different - Death was an impatient lover, and had claimed his hand already.

“I won’t be able to travel anywhere. Every place is ruined now,” Light said in a soft lilt of voice. “The restaurants in New York, the gardens in Berlin. Oh, and that terrible nightclub too. Even Paris, I can’t even look at a picture of Montmartre.”

Yagami hid behind half-truths. The travels were not a pressing concern. That’s not what he meant. He meant he would never be happy again. Now, ‘happy’ for them was a multi-layered word. Objectively, they had been terribly wrong together, at times. They had fought and cried and screamed everywhere. They had stained the whole word with bad memories. In the midst of chaos and nonconformity, the liar he had been found a certain happiness. It was clear that Yagami could never survive without it, mostly because he didn’t want to, not more than a child wants to leave the Neverland. 

The comparison was extremely relevant, as one of the last books L quoted to Light was Peter Pan. That would come later.

“I’ll have a word with Mihael, Nate and Mail.” He brushed a strand of hair off Yagami’s face.  “Then we can talk, alright?”

Yagami left the room without a sound. Nate suspected he was in agony, as it’s a fact that intense pain thrives within the silence of mind.

Another peculiar choice of the authors of the Life and Time had been to cut L’s last significant words to his successors. Light was, after all, the main character of the story. There was nothing L avowed them that the reader could not do from imagination.

 [](http://mystesastra.tumblr.com/)

* * *

 

**What Light did in the corridor, according to S. Gevanni.**

_I will miss_

_The nights (all of them)._  
_Your hands._  
_The texture of your hair._  
_The way you say “farewell” and “absurd”._  
_The games (all of them)._  
_Reading a book beside you. Especially if you bother me._  
_Your weird obsessions. Even your cruelty._

Light folded the paper, considered throwing it away into the bin for a moment. He couldn’t. His fingers clasped the paper until they cramped. He buried it in his back pocket. Years later, the paper was scanned and displayed in _the_ _Life and Time_ ’s appendix.

“ _As evidenced here, Yagami was something of a romantic. Someone who kept in mind romanticism is dark and quite tragic,”_ wrote Near.

The tragedy is never death – that is inevitable, a fatality. Tragedy lies in the unfinished, the could-have-been, the as ifs. In their case, the tragedy wasn’t that Yagami was broken, but that the cracks in his psyche could never be mended.

 

* * *

 

 **2035**  
FRANCE  
What Mello heard

_M: It was unfair, to die like this. Did he say goodbye?_

_N: No. He was incapable of uttering a single word.  
M: Still. That doesn’t mean he didn’t say goodbye._

_N: In his own way then.  Goodbye, he thought, meant forgetting. The frightened child he had been surged back with all the bad habits. I saw that the night L died._

 

Even with L, at times, the world still was a bleak, terrible place to Yagami. A tempest – howling and threatening, people staring from beneath their umbrellas. But he had a shelter. Alongside L, he believed the world could be redressed. L successfully turned his fear into hope, copper into silver and gold. How would Light survive without his alchemist?

The question was first asked by Mello. He exorcised his own despair that way, comparing it to Yagami’s loss.

None of L’s successors had met his eyes since the doctors bowed their head, formed the words with their mouths, uttering them as they would any other words. It was just another life cut short. Nothing exceptional.

Their cold professionalism snapped a thread in Light Yagami’s mind. The image was traumatic. There was virtually no change in the lilt of his voice, his posture was perfect as a sonnet, and he faced the doctors with his chin up.

The doctors looked back reluctantly because tears were flowing down his cheeks.

To the living, death is the slowest acting disease. It can take years to register the death of someone you love. It might remain latent, seep into you and never truly show itself. L’s death infected Light Yagami – as evidenced by the tears.

But he wasn’t yet _aware_ of that. He had discussed with the doctors in a silky rehearsed tone but did not wipe out the tears.

“I should check on him,” Mello said, sliding his body up against the wall.

Halfway through the corridor, he heard Light Yagami’s voice coming from a deserted room. Mello felt his stomach churn and halted his pacing at once. He was seized by a sort of overwhelming pain only experienced deep in water.

Yagami’s bare, hollowed voice felt horrifying. Mello felt his body stiffen as the words pierced their way to his bones. He wondered hazily if he was the only one hearing it, as everyone seemed to move too fast around him. How could they?

“I was scared of dying, you know. I still am. Even you can’t change that,” the voice confessed. Death was too heavy a memory. He had walked hand in hand with her. “The only comfort was that somehow, I convinced myself we’d die together. It wouldn’t have been death, then. Just another adventure.”  

Everything was silent, everything sounded dead. Even Yagami.

“I owe you so much. And now I can never repay you.” Here laid the unfairness. It wasn’t about him anymore. Redemption wasn’t even part of the picture. He owed L his survival. He had made a person out of the vague concept Light Yagami had become. He was forever in his debt.

And then the voice changed itself. “I agree, you owe me. But the difference is that I will never reclaim my debt.”

A shiver passed over Mello’s body, shaking it violently. Yagami’s rendition of L wasn’t perfect – the cadence was slow, the rhythm threatening. It was the voice of someone you love, like you hear it in a dream.

“That’s what you said. I know,” he went on, in his own broken voice. “I just wanted us to live forever. If there isn’t anything – after…I see you, you know. You don’t even need to be alive. Now I can see you. You smile that fond…beautiful smile.” He cut himself with a strangled sob. “I will never see it again, won’t I?”

Yagami burst into feverish tears, and Mello took it as his cue to leave.

 

* * *

 

 **Epilogue**  
**2038  
** **FRANCE**

L had been a greedy lover. Greedy and gluttonous. Death didn’t change his nature. He lingered within Light Yagami’s being, his long fingers brushing his stomach, dancing across the flesh, every minute of every day. Light felt L more intensely that he felt himself. A Light from another time would have been humiliated. But what was left of him, the person he had become at L’s side, that person was defeated and welcomed the intrusion, pleasant or not. His mind rarely ever took pity on his heart anyway.

Light escaped to the city L had been abandoned 50 years ago. He held onto his hollowed life for five years, two of which he spent tracking down every single newspaper, institution or civilian in possession of a photograph, handwriting sample or anything personal that belonged to L, Ryûzaki, Leigh or Lawrence.

Then, he devoted a measure of his time to the biography he felt obligated to write. There were still cracks in his mind, and within them, lived a narcissist.

The last time Mello visited him, Yagami had swapped his shirts of silk for a black turtleneck that belonged to L.

There was nothing to say about his apartment. Memories nobody could understand inhabited the rooms. Half-emptied candy bags caught Mello’s attention. He was willing to bet Light couldn’t bear the taste of anything else. Every item of furniture existed in double, in a flat for one person. Was there anything else to say? It was a place made for ghosts.

By the time Mello plucked up the courage to ask him how he held on, Light Yagami expressed his need for some fresh air and minced to the balcony.

“This is not the same mechanism as before. I lived proudly in the nasty little dreams I crafted. I was a God. I was a Saint,” he said softly, in a way that touched Mello to his core. His sincerity was so rare, it resonated intensely within those who witnessed it.

Perhaps thanks to the denial of L’s death, grief hadn’t added years onto his features. He didn’t look alive either. He looked like a statue that forcefully came to life – a travesty of an existence. The scarf winded around his neck reminded Mello of a hangsman’s noose.

“It’s different now. I have willingly, consciously… resigned to this illusion. Not for fear of reality, mind you,” he went on. His hands gripped the balustrade. “But because this illusion is more real to me than anything else in the world.”

He finally met Mello’s eyes, and what Mello read in them was the purest form of sorrow. All strong effects come from contrasts. Yagami’s hopeless eyes came with a smile.

“He is still alive. I feel everything he is within me. How can I believe he died, then? He’s always there. You know him. He never let go of me.”

Yagami fixed the horizon, eyes brushing the deep blue infinity of the sky. Longing for something that couldn’t be reached.

Instinctively, Mello moved his hand onto Yagami’s. It was cold. It had been cold for a long time.

In a sense, and although it broke his heart, Mello was glad he saw that side of him. Like the last shot of a film, the last picture of a loved one, that image would forever flicker in the back of his mind at the mention of Yagami.

By virtue of a healthy lifestyle and a bad karma, death refused to call Light Yagami’s name. Bizarre were the circumstances of his passing, only five years after his alleged lover and nemesis. Perhaps Light Yagami died of lassitude. For him, time froze in 2035, and forever is a long time to wait, right?

 

 

* * *

 

**Light Yagami’s Biography. End pages.**

_There are people in this world who seem immortal. The protectors, the reliable ones, the defenders. These people, I learnt, exorcize the fear of death by meeting with it every so often.  Think of a saviour, of the man who carried you through the flames._

_But even those who know death, will have to bend in the end. It’s unnatural. It doesn’t make sense. So, we solve the paradox. We pretend they’re immortal, we call them heroes and messiahs. We mock death. It’s the coping mechanism of the weak._

_You know how the story ends. The immortal die, of course, and we never question death again. We quietly learn our lesson. Their death is the cruelest of all and I can’t help but think there is a divine intend behind it._

_Luckily, I had the power to fight back. I knew everything about L. I couldn’t make him live forever, but I offered him the death he deserved._

_I know. Some think I died with him, that day. It’s an illusion._

_He will die with me, only with me._

 

* * *

 

 **2035**  
**WINCHESTER  
** **“See you in the Neverland”**

 

It had been Mello’s choice to elect Yagami’s speech at L’s funeral as the closing scene of the book. He argued it gave a sense of closure. Hope, of a certain disturbing fashion.

Against all logic, L’s funeral was not half as sordid as his existence. Mello and Matt found it in themselves to laugh at times; everything was so unlike their mentor. There were liars in suits at every corner. Suddenly Lawrence Deneuve had a lot of friends when he had always been collecting enemies all his life. Of course, he knew his funeral would play out that way. That’s the price of hiding yourself; everyone can pretend to know you.

“If ghosts exist, you can be sure he’s just observing the ballet by the buffet,” Near mumbled. He motioned Stephen to halt his walking.

“I think he’d rather stand by his coffin. That’s just his style,” Mello countered, placing himself beside his rival. He allowed his piercing eyes to wander towards the stage. He focused, summoned L’s spectre with something akin to despair. His gaze would always drop to the coffin. Sighing, he reckoned that ghosts are not obedient creatures. L’s ghost would be especially shifty, a poltergeist of sorts. The thought drew a sad, short-lived smile from Mello.

It melted when Yagami took three long-legged strides up to the stage. The image of him, pallid and trembling before an assembly of strangers, fumbling on the words…that image was a miracle in itself. It highlighted to Mello how deeply Yagami had been influenced by L. It was the work of twenty long years, standing humbled and frail before their eyes. Mello felt his stomach twist.

And everything changed when Yagami started to talk.

“You have more enemies than you can count – not that you’d bother to count. Only one enemy was worthy of you. None of them got you in the end, not even him... Then, what is gripping your throat? Something akin to lassitude. Weariness. Perhaps chasing, taming and loving the monster has a price. I accept that. I know you do too.”

Every verb in present tense. Now, that was sordid. But only if you knew Yagami’s tendency to retreat in his kingdom of lies. His grief was frozen in time, and he deliberately refused to move on. A logical choice when you have nowhere to go.

“You make me feel powerful, and not by giving yourself away. On that point, I’m grateful you reined yourself in. Masochism was always a great, endearing flaw of yours. There wasn’t any sacrifice on your part…No, I became powerful when I ceased to be afraid. All I needed was your guiding light.”  

His hands gripped the speech podium. There were hints of power in that gesture. It was not a demonstration of fragility.

“You made a promise, a long time ago. It was on TV. You remember? You said we'd change the world. We changed ourselves. That's better."

From that moment on, Yagami’s eyes were riveted, not thousand miles away like it’s expected from someone who is addressing the dead…his eyes fixed a precise spot in the cold chapel. It blinds, to observe a ghost, and that explained why Yagami’s eyes kept on flickering. Perhaps.

“ _You know that place between sleep and awake, that place where you still remember dreaming? That’s where I’ll always love you._ _That’s where I’ll be waiting_.“ Some recognised Barrie’s words, exchanged a glance. It was hard to believe these beautiful words could echo off the stone walls of a chapel in such a sinister manner. It seemed they were always meant to sound like this, haunting as the chant of bells.

Mello swallowed bile. His eyes followed Yagami as he climbed down the stage. The words that would later find shelter in _the Life and Time_ were already formed in his mind.

_“That day, he scared me, not in the way Kira did. He frightened me like L used to when he meant to carry me in some feverish dream of his. For the span of time this speech lasted, they were the same. And I knew, then. I knew they could defy death itself. ”_

Coincidentally, Matt leaned to whisper something in Near's ear. " _When you think of it, how successful would their love story be?_ " Near nodded pensively. It had everything. The complex protagonists, the bad break-up, the raw sensuality and even an ending so poetic it belonged in the realm of fiction.

A thought struck the three men then, in a final, perfect harmony. Yagami and Lawliet were neither heroes nor villains; not monsters, or vigilantes. Humans, but never suited to the part. They were the flawed, insufferable, magnificent characters of a book. Yes, that would do for them.

That was it then: the perfect ending.

 

* * *

 

**The last pages.**

_So, here we are. We presented them to you, wicked as they were, soiled as they sometimes fancied themselves. Powerful and fragile. Details have been omitted, of course. These are the rules of storytelling. You were there at every turning point, I can assure you._

_I think we fulfilled our mission._

_Did Light and Lawrence grew on you? Have you cried? How different is your vision of L, have you forgiven Kira?_

_To me, only one question matters._

_How do you feel about this world, a world in which Kira and L fell in love? Where the monsters were defeated by the humans who created them?_

_Feel free to question me but, personally…It makes me smile._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -> Castel Sant'Angelo is real, beautiful place.  
> -> the French city is Lyon, most probably.


End file.
